


we know the game and we're gonna play it

by Piyo13, smolmerci



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fake Dating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Weddings, phichimettiweek, phichimettiweek- day 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/pseuds/Piyo13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolmerci/pseuds/smolmerci
Summary: In which Phichit’s fabulous sister Prija Chulanont gets gay married to the woman of her dreams, and Christophe Giacometti conspires to hide Phichit’s utter lack of a love life— by making out with him.(Okay, so some other stuff happens first.)





	1. MAY 7TH, HASETSU, JAPAN, T -802.484398 HOURS (1 month 3 days)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! We did another #phichimettiweek prompt (day six: fake dating, although it is also about a wedding), but this time we've decided to do multiple chapters! We're still in the process of writing, but we know where it's going. :) 
> 
> Re: original characters, we came up with names and personalities for Phichit's family (there's a picture of them for a split second in canon) and made up a family for Phichit's sister's wife-to-be. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**MAY 7TH, HASETSU, JAPAN, T -** **802.484398 HOURS (1 month 3 days)**

It’s 10:02 AM when Phichit gets the call, just as he’s packing a small bag to go sightseeing with the other skaters staying at the hot springs. It’s “Primadonna,” which means—

“Hey, Prija,” Phichit answers, grinning. This should be good; she’d texted him sometime last night with _BIG NEWS!!!!!! <3 <3  ;O  _and he’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with a family gathering. “What’s up?”

Prija’s reply sounds more like a screech. A screech of joy, but a screech. “I’M GETTING FUCKING MARRIED,” she yells, happily. He can hear someone laughing in the background—probably Alba—but she keeps going. “ALBA PROPOSED AND WE’RE GETTING MARRIED AND YOU’RE COMING RIGHT?”

Phichit brings the phone back towards his face. “Wow! Congrats—um, of course? When is it? Please tell me it’s not during competition season, though—”

“One month and three days, right in the middle of your vacation, just because I love you, you nerd,” Prija says, warmly. “Everyone’s coming—you haven’t met Alba’s family yet, have you?”

Phichit shakes his head before remembering that Prija can’t see him. “Only digitally,” he confirms.

“Perfect! I’ll get you the details in an email later, but regarding hotel rooms, you don’t need a plus one so is it okay if—”

“Actually,” Phichit hears himself say, before he can think it through. Maybe it’s just a culmination of years of teasing; years of pitying looks from his family as he always returns single, years of ‘oh but Phichit, I know this nice young guy, very respectable family’, years of being lonely—maybe it’s just that, in that moment, Phichit feels the sibling urge to prove Prija wrong.

Whatever the case, on the other end of the line, Prija goes quiet.

“Actually,” Phichit continues, before he completely loses his nerve. “I have someone I can bring.”

“...really,” Prija says, every syllable enunciated. It’s not a question.

“Yes. My boyfriend. You haven’t met him yet.” Phichit winces at himself.

“...okay,” Prija replies. “That sounds _super_ fake, but I’ll let you prove me wrong. I’ll forward you your hotel information later, then. So you can forward it to your _boyfriend._ ”

“I—yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Alright then. You’ll be hearing from me.”

“Yeah. And Prija?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.” Phichit smiles into his phone, hoping Prija can hear it. She laughs a little.

“Honestly I still can’t believe it. But thanks, Phichit. I’m… I’m really happy about this.”

“Good,” Phichit answers. “Now go and scream at everyone else you’ve got to call up for this.”

“Roger that, captain. Prija, out.” So saying, Prija hangs up, and the line goes dead. Phichit stares at the blank screen in his hand.

He closes his eyes. Softly, but with emotion, he whispers: “ _Fuck.”_

 

Phichit manages not to think about it until supper. He’s sitting next to Chris, as usual, who’s talking about how Karpisek and Ciao Ciao may or may not be on vacation together at this very moment—he’s got Karpisek’s texts pulled up on his phone, and Phichit gets his out to check.

 _prija: HEY. YOU NEVER SAID HIS NAME. I NEED A NAME_  
_prija: i mean if he actually has one_  
_prija: you know, like, if he’s not FAKE_  
_prija: sorry that was mean._  
_prija: BUT AM I WRONG?_ _  
prija: just tell me his name!!!!!_

“Oh, god,” Phichit says, with quiet despair, and Chris immediately smiles at him. It’s not the first time he’s heard Phichit cursing to himself over something; they’ve been Skyping a lot lately, especially when their best friends are busy with all the excitement of their new married life. He seems to think Phichit’s complaining is entertaining.

“Are you okay? Did Celestino send you something traumatizing?”

Phichit snorts. “No, thank God. No, it’s my sister,” he starts, then pauses. “I, uh, might’ve. Lied a little. And now I’m stuck?”

“Stuck?” Chris asks, setting his phone down and furrowing his brow at Phichit. “What did you lie about?”

“Ah, well, it’s—my sister’s girlfriend—well, fiancee now, I guess—proposed, so they’re getting married like… soon, and she wants me to go to the wedding, which obviously I’m going, but I… might have gotten fed up with always being the single one in the family and told her that I was bringing my boyfriend?”

Chris considers this. One of the things that Phichit appreciates about Christophe Giacometti is that he doesn’t really _judge,_ he just kind of… thinks. “And there’s no one you could bring?” He almost sounds surprised.

Phichit snorts. “As if… they’ve been on my case for _years_ , but the only—well, anyways, point is you’d think I’d be used to the whole ‘Phichit, why don’t you just find yourself a nice man and settle down’ commentary by now,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher in what is probably an unfair imitation of his concerned mother.

“I don’t blame you. I certainly never have. ‘Aren’t there apps for that now?’ ‘What are you doing with your life besides training and competing?’ ‘What will you do when you retire?’” Chris pauses to take a sip of wine and rolls his eyes, and Phichit remembers that Chris had complained of similar concern from his parents and grandparents after the whole ice dancer thing. “Anyway, you have two choices, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Phichit asks, with a growing sense of trepidation. That tone of voice, as he’s come to know over the past few months, means _shenanigans._

“Well, either you come clean,” Chris says, “or you keep lying. If the latter, you need to find a partner in crime.”

Phichit frowns. “But—I mean, who would want to—”

“Get free food and booze and spend time with you? Worth a little lying, in my opinion,” Chris says, shrugging cheerfully. It takes Phichit a good few seconds to realize that this is most likely—

“Wait, are you actually offering to pretend to date me?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Chris winks, and Phichit tries to will himself not to be _weird_ about it.

“You—it really wouldn’t be weird for you or anything?”

Chris shrugs again. “Not really, no, if you’re fine with it.” Phichit looks down at his phone, still displaying Prija’s messages, then back up at Chris.

“You’re sure? Once I tell Prija, there’s no going back.”

Chris ponders this for a moment, then unlocks his phone, opening the camera app. “Lean in,” he instructs, and Phichit does, instinctively smiling at the camera. “Three,” Chris counts, “two, one—”

Phichit startles as he feels the soft press of lips against his cheek, right as the shutter clicks. Then Chris is pulling away, checking the photo on his phone, and Phichit is left staring at him with a blush.

“Perfect,” Chris says, and Phichit’s phone buzzes with an incoming message. “Now send that to your sister.”

It takes a few seconds for Prija to react.

 _prija: HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCK_  
_prija: THAT’S CHRISTOPHE GIACOMETTI?????? THE HOT ONE WITH THE BUTT????_  
_prija: how._  
_prija: how long has this been happening and how did you pull that off??? WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW PHICHIT_  
_phichit: maybe because you react with all caps and complete disbelief_ _  
prija:  wtf you don’t have to drag me like that bro_

Phichit looks up at Chris, who’s leaning his head on his hand, looking back at Phichit. “Chris,” he hisses, aware that Prija’s probably already on the hunt, “we need to come up with an origin story, stat.” The first thing that occurs to Phichit is Victor and Yuuri’s wedding, because that’s where—well, perhaps that would hit too close to home.

Chris’ eyes fill with mischief. “You seduced me at a GPF banquet through drunken dry-humping and demanding that I become your coach?”

“Nah, she knows that one,” Phichit says, but he can’t help but laugh. “We could start with this year’s banquet, though! What did you end up doing afterwards?” Phichit had turned in early, exhausted in every way, but he’d heard that some of the others had gone out on the town.

“I went to a burlesque club,” Chris says, easily, like that’s just a normal thing that people do. “Ended up stripping! It was fun.” His smile grows wicked, and Phichit gets that feeling again.

“How about… we say you came with me?”

“I don’t know that Prija would believe that I’d go to a burlesque club?” Phichit says, then pauses. “Hmm.” Then again, he’s done some pretty wild stuff with Yuuri, and—well, he _would_ go to a burlesque club with Christophe Giacometti, given the opportunity.

“Mm,” Chris says. “I mean, if you’re actually worried, I’m sure we could find time before the wedding to actually go to one? When did you say it was, again?”

“In a month,” Phichit says, answering on reflex and trying hard not to imagine what it must be like, watching Chris perform a striptease.

“See? Plenty of time,” Chris says with a wink, taking another sip of his wine. “Though,” he adds on, “I suppose if I’m going to be pretending to be your boyfriend of—how long have we been dating, again?—you’d probably best fill me in on everything I need to know.”

Phichit, with relief, immediately navigates to one of his many picture folders on his phone. “I guess we’ll start with a refresher on who’s who,” he says, opening a family photo that includes Alba. Phichit’s holding a gold medal—the photo had been taken after his first Cup of China.

“That’s Prija, right?” Chris asks, pointing. “So next to her, Alba. And then that’s… that’s Chaisai, and that one’s Anada?” Chris is leaning in close to get a better look, and seems comfortable, but Phichit can’t help but feel aware of it.

Still, he smiles widely, nodding, because it’s not everyone that can tell the twins apart. “You got it!”

“Remind me, what are your parents’ names?” Chris asks, still studying the photo intently.

“Mali and Sunya,” Phichit replies, and then flicks through photos until he finds the one he’s looking for. It’s one that Prija sent him, from when she went to visit the Pellicers. “Okay, so this is Alba’s family. I’ve never met them, but that’s her, that’s her little brother, Emilio…”

They’re both jolted out of conversation and being lost in each others’ eyes when “Primadonna” sounds again. Phichit scrambles to unroll his earbuds, taking the side with the microphone for himself and offering the other one to Chris. Prija will be speaking Thai, of course, but Chris has been trying to pick some up for a while now, and it’s not often that he gets to hear someone other than Phichit speaking it. Chris takes takes the earbud, interested, and Leo gives them a curious look from across the table. Neither of them notices, but Leo and Guang-Hong exchange raised eyebrows and knowing smiles as Chris and Phichit lean towards the phone together, cheeks almost touching. 

_ “Hello again, Prija,” _ Phichit greets.

_ “So first off, tell Chris his Instagram is a thing of beauty and I’ve been a fan for a while, and second off, if you two really  _ are _ dating, why does his Facebook say single, hm?” _

_ “Does it?”  _ Phichit asks, calmly, giving Chris a significant look. Chris frowns, then holds up his phone; the screen is open to his Facebook profile. Phichit nods, and Chris mimes a salute, already typing away.

Within a few minutes, they’re Facebook official. Phichit is actually forced to put his phone on silent as the likes and comments keep rolling in—

“Hey, what’s with the Facebook thing, you guys?” Phichit had actually forgotten that there were other people in the hot springs, as the other skaters must’ve wandered off during their phone call with Prija, but Yuuri’s just walked in with a big grin and a clinging husband. Victor’s arms are around him, and Victor looks equally pleased. The rings on their hands glint in the lamplight.

“I can’t believe you!” Victor says, detaching himself from Yuuri only to get into Chris’ space. Chris laughs, and Victor shakes his head. “Making your _best friend_ find out that you’re dating because of _Facebook_? You should be ashamed of yourself, Christophe!”

Phichit glances at Chris, about to say that he can absolutely tell Victor and Yuuri the truth, but Chris just winks at him again. “I’m so sorry, Vitya,” he purrs, mocking and full of affection. “Clearly, you should always know every scandalous detail of my love life as soon as it happens. Next time I’ll come find you immediately, and we can dissect Phichit’s text messages together.”

“You’re not mad?”  Phichit says, turning to his own best friend as Victor and Chris continue squabbling in the background. Yuuri shakes his head, smiling.

“This is only like the fiftieth time you’ve blindsided me with social media,” Yuuri says, with a little eyeroll. “Besides. I’m really happy for you, Phichit.” This last comment is made with disarming sincerity, and Yuuri’s eyes flit between Chris and Phichit warm with affection.

For the first time, but not the last, Phichit feels himself still with unease. “Thanks,” he says, sheepishly.

“Anytime,” Yuuri says. “So, I heard you’re going to a wedding?”


	2. JUNE 2ND, T -191.238958 HOURS - JUNE 3RD, T - 169.157820 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of asking if Chris actually sleeps in the nude, Phichit sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick retcon notice! as of 28/08, we've edited chapter one so that all the conversations between phichit and prija are taking place in thai! chris was still listening in, because he's been trying to learn thai--he and phichit are friends, after all--and everything else is the same, just a language switch :)

**JUNE 2ND, GENÈVE AÉROPORT, T -191.238958 HOURS (8 days)**

“Boundaries,” Phichit says, firmly, as Chris sets two coffees on their table. Phichit’s is something with whipped cream on top that smells strongly of vanilla, while Chris’ looks to be decked in cinnamon. “We need to talk about boundaries.” They’re in the airport, with about an hour to go before their flight to Grenada, suitcases already checked in.

“Of course,” Chris says, easily, and takes a seat as Phichit snaps a quick photo of their coffees. “Tell me what you’re okay with.”

“I mean, you’re the one doing me a favor, it’s what you’re comfortable with,” Phichit replies, hesitantly, and sets his phone down. Chris cocks a brow, and Phichit feels like he’s made some sort of faux pas; with his glasses on, and with that particular expression, Chris looks a bit like a librarian about to shush someone.

“Okay, rephrasing, because I’m sure most of the international skating circuit knows where my level of comfort is,” Chris says, winking and punctuating his sentence by sliding his toe up Phichit’s calf under the table. Phichit resolutely isn’t thinking about it. “What level of intimacy is normal for your family?”

Phichit’s stumped, for a second. “I… well, we’re pretty touchy-feely? Hugs are fine, of course. I’ve never really—I’ve never brought anyone home before, for dating,” he says, although Chris must know that by now. He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s quite sweet; absently, he wonders if Chris’ is less so.

Chris is watching him carefully, and he seems to pick up on Phichit’s uncertainty, because suddenly Chris’ hand is warm and soothing on Phichit’s own. “Handholding,” Chris says. “Is that okay?”

Phichit nods, and feels himself smiling a little. “Yeah, that’s fine. In front of anyone,” he says, and reaches for Chris’ coffee, belatedly tacking on a “can I?” even though the coffee is already halfway to his lips.

Chris waves a permissive hand and continues lightly, as if this is all just chit-chat to him. “Touching? Not the sexual kind—arms, shoulders, your back, brushing your hair out of your face—”

“We already do that,” Phichit points out, and they exchange a grin. Chris’ foot moves a little, and Phichit moves his other leg closer to Chris’.

“Yes, but now your family is here,” Chris reminds him.

“It’s still fine.”

“Fine, or encouraged?” Phichit’s about to tell Chris off for being deliberately obtuse when he understands that this is Chris’ way of giving him space to set limits for himself, instead of making decisions based on what will be convincing and appropriate for the Chulanonts.

He has to think about it, for a second: how far does he want to go? Does he trust Chris not to go too far? Does he trust _himself?_

“Encouraged,” he says, finally, and Chris nods. He’s still clearly trying not to sway Phichit one way or another, but his eyes light up, and Phichit thinks he must be glad to have an outlet for all the physical affection—Chris likes people, likes being close to them so obviously that even Yuuri doesn’t seriously seem to mind his tactility.

“Kissing on the cheek?” Chris asks.

“Do you have a _list?”_ Phichit teases, though he is genuinely wondering. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with those internet lists for relationships—consent and kinks and everything. He just wouldn’t have pegged Chris as someone who _planned_ like that, until now.

“Not on me, no,” Chris says, mischievously, “but I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Phichit tries not to think too hard about that. “Kissing on the cheek is good.” There’s a brief pause, and they look at each other—they both know exactly what Chris’ next question is going to be. Before he can overthink it, Phichit answers. “For kissing… I don’t have a _problem_ with it,” Phichit says, and Chris’ posture shifts just slightly back. “I think we might have to at some point, but I also think we should keep it to a minimum if possible? I don’t know. I just think it might… blur the lines,” he says. It’s not easy to admit that, because he’s essentially admitting that he’s attracted enough to Chris that a little kissing could screw up their friendship—

“Of course,” Chris says, with a little squeeze to Phichit’s hand. There’s something guarded about his face, however, until Chris breaks the tension with a quick smile. “Do I have permission to wax poetic about your many charms, _chéri?_ And call you pet names?”

Phichit laughs. “As long as you keep it safe for the twins.”

“How old are they again?” Chris jokes.

“Chris…”

“Kidding, kidding. What about sharing food and drinks?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Encouraged, even, if you have something I like,” Phichit says, smirking.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chris says, pointedly draining the last of his coffee. Phichit grins back at him, finishing his own coffee as well. Just then, an announcement for some passenger or another comes on over the crisp loudspeakers, first in French and then in English. Phichit glances up, then back at Chris.

“What’s our gate again?”

“Pier C, I think?” Chris says. “That’s usually where long-haul flights depart. We should probably get going, though, they’re bound to start boarding soon.”

“Sounds good.” Phichit gathers his carry-ons, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “Lead the way,” he tells Chris. They detour by a trash can to deposit their coffee cups, and Phichit follows Chris as he navigates the airport with easy familiarity.

Chris even allows Phichit to stop at a small airport shop with a large amount of chocolate, because, well. They’re in _Switzerland;_ Phichit feels like he’s under some sort of moral obligation to buy as much chocolate as possible there. Not that his checked bag didn’t already contain at least a kilo.

“Personally, I think you should get Callier,” Chris says, taking a bar for himself. “It’s the best commercially-produced chocolate in—”

“Excuse me,” says a small voice behind them. “But are you Christophe Giacometti?”

Chris turns towards the questioner, smiling broadly, and if Phichit didn’t know Chris better, he would even think the smile was genuine. As it is, there’s a certain tightness around Chris’ eyes that seems… strained, even as he chats jovially with the fan in French, and accepts to take a selfie.

At one point, the fan asks a question, and Chris’ smile actually slips for half a second. Phichit frowns; he doesn’t speak French, but he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s about the one topic Chris has been dodging for ages— despite getting asked in almost every interview.

Phichit waits until they’re settled into their seats to ask, chocolate safely stowed away. Phichit’s got the window, mostly because Chris intends on sleeping the whole way through.

“Are you okay? What was that fan asking about, anyway?”

Chris visibly hesitates. It’s small, but it’s there: a moment of looking down at his hands clasped together in his lap, then he leans back in his chair and looks at ease all over again. “Retirement,” he says.

Phichit just tilts his head to the side a little and waits.

“I… don’t know,” Chris says, finally. “I’ve been saying I’m coming back for another season, but I’m just not sure.”

“I did think it was strange that you didn’t mind missing the ice time while we’re off for the wedding,” Phichit says, casually. Chris half-smiles.

“My knee could use the break, I think.”

“Mm,” Phichit hums, sympathetically. He’s complained to Prija often enough about the state of his own knees, and Chris has been skating and landing jumps even longer than him. Chris still looks a little uncertain, though, so Phichit drops the subject and looks out the window, just as the plane starts to taxi. The speakers overhead turn on as the cabin crew go through the standard safety briefing—albeit in French, first—and Phichit rifles through the carry-on he’s stored under the seat in front of him. “Gum?”

“Sure,” Chris replies, and Phichit hands him a piece before taking one for himself. They chew in silence as the plane takes off, ears popping, the familiar pressure squeezing Phichit’s chest until the plane evens out into something more approaching cruising altitude. Beneath them, Phichit watches the Alps flit by.

They don’t really talk; instead, Phichit pulls out a book and Chris settles deeper into his chair with a sleeping mask pulled down over his eyes. (It’s bright pink, with little cat ears, and it says _MIGHT BE HUNG OVER._ )

He’s about three chapters into _The Ruins of Gorlan_ when his eyelids start drooping. Vaguely, he tells himself he’s just going to put it down for a second—

 

**JUNE 2ND, INTERNATIONAL AIRSPACE, T - 186.924689 HOURS (7 days)**

Next thing he knows, he’s blinking awake from what was probably a very long nap, and his head is on Chris’ shoulder. Chris doesn’t seem to mind, because his head is on Phichit’s. Phichit lets himself relax in the warmth that Chris emanates for a few seconds.

He’s woken up just in time, too, apparently; the stewardess for their row is only a few seats further ahead, bringing the foot cart with her. Phichit shifts slightly, which dislodges Chris and wakes him up—he pushes the sleeping mask up, the ears sticking out at an angle and making it almost look like they belong to Chris.

“Sorry,” Phichit mumbles, easing a kink out of his neck. “It’s almost food time, though.”

“If you can even call it food,” Chris mutters back, before running a hand over his face. “How long was I out?”

Phichit taps the screen embedded into the chair in front of him. There’s six hours, thirteen minutes until landing in New York, where they catch their transfer. “I dunno, but we’re about a third of the way through.” Chris grunts, then shimmies himself into a more seated position as the stewardess nears. Phichit is definitely not distracted by the way Chris’ shirt has hitched up and exposed one of his hipbones.

“Phichit?” Phichit looks up, meeting Chris’ concerned gaze.

“Huh?”

“Your turn to order,” Chris says, amused.

“Chicken parmesan or pasta?” asks the stewardess cheerily as Phichit blushes.

“Uh, pasta, please.” The stewardess hands them both a box and drinks, and then moves along. Phichit and Chris unpack their boxes, Chris wrinkling his nose melodramatically at the somewhat misshapen lump that Phichit supposes is supposed to be chicken parmesan (not that the pasta looks any better).

Phichit shoves a few pieces of pasta around before hesitantly eating one. It’s… not _bad_ , per se, but it’s also not good.

“Hm,” Chris says next to him, chewing pensively. “It looks pretty bad, but it’s actually not awful, taste-wise.” He slices off another piece of the chicken. “Want to try?”

Phichit looks between Chris’ fork, held out with the bite of chicken on it, and Chris himself, who raises a brow, smiling faintly.

“Food sharing?” he says, a light teasing edge in his voice.

 _Oh_ , Phichit thinks, remembering their earlier conversation about boundaries. _It’s for practice. So we can pretend to be the perfect boyfriends. Right._ Phichit leans in and takes the chicken.

“Well,” he says as diplomatically as he can manage, “it’s not the worst I’ve ever had.”

“Oh? And what _is_ the worst?” Chris asks, taking another bite for himself.

“This one place in Detroit,” Phichit says, launching easily into the story of the time he and Yuuri had gotten well-deserved food poisoning. Halfway through his tale, it occurs to him—in the interest of sharing food and being a good fake-boyfriend—that he should probably offer Chris something as well. He spears a bit of pasta and holds it out.

Chris looks a little surprised, at first, but then he leans in even as Phichit keeps rambling about the exact shade of the shrimp he and Yuuri probably should not have eaten, and Phichit does his best not to have his train of thought completely derailed by the way Chris’ lips close over his fork.

It’s a losing battle, at best.

Still, Phichit manages to make it to the end of the story, at which point Chris smoothly takes over with an anecdote of his own, and they lapse into comfortable conversation as the stewardess comes back around to take their plates.

Chris pulls out a book as well at that point, and Phichit reopens his, and they spend a while in companionable silence, sometimes reading a funny passage aloud to the other, until Phichit falls back asleep.

 

**JUNE 3RD, JFK AIRPORT, T - 178.887641 HOURS (7 days)**

They have a few hours of layover in New York, and Phichit drinks in the hustling and bustling atmosphere. It reminds him a bit of Detroit, and he misses living with Yuuri.

Of course, Yuuri is now married to the love of his life, while Phichit has stooped low enough to get his crush to pretend to be his boyfriend. Not that he _has_ a crush, but. Hypothetically.

 

**JUNE 3RD, MAURICE BISHOP INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, T - 169.157820 HOURS (7 days)**

Phichit had slept the whole second leg of the trip (on Chris’ shoulder again, no less), but somehow, as they stumble out of the airport and into the shuttle that will take them to the resort Prija and Alba have rented out for the week, Phichit’s still completely exhausted.

Chris, next to him and holding their shared bag of presents on his lap, yawns loudly.

“Travel’s so tiring, for all that you just sit down for several hours,” he mumbles.

“You said it,” Phichit mumbles back, turns to look out the window as they drives past various small villages. It’s fairly late, stars and an almost-full moon brightening the sky, with warm lights from houses and resorts lending it all a sense of peace and relaxation. Which is what they were going for, Phichit supposes.

The aura of calm fades five minutes later, as the shuttle starts to pull to a stop. Out the window, Phichit sees a familiar figure, and he grabs Chris’ hand in excitement.

“It’s Prija!”

Prija waves with both arms, grinning, and Phichit happily returns her crushing hug as soon as they step out of the bus.

“It’s so good to see my favourite nerd,” she says, fondly, and releases him after ruffling his hair and planting a loud kiss on his cheek. “I missed your face!”

Phichit laughs. “I missed yours, jerk,” he says, as Prija moves on to stand in front of Chris, who looks down—way down—at her. They smile at each other at the same moment.

“So, you’re the elusive Chris,” Prija says, waggling her eyebrows.  
  
“And you’re the famous Prija,” Chris counters pleasantly, raising his. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Prija says, shooting Phichit a _look_ , but she shakes hands with Chris anyway. “Still! Glad you’re here. It’s about time Phichit got his shit together.”

Phichit tenses slightly, smile unwavering, but Prija seems to sense something vulnerable in his face as she glances at him—her eyes go from playful to soft, and she turns to nudge him with her elbow. “I mean, he’s pretty fabulous, so. I’m glad someone’s appreciating that.”

“He is,” Chris agrees, fondly, just before Phichit clears his throat. This whole thing is suddenly very embarrassing, and for the second time Phichit feels a wave of unease. Prija doesn’t notice, distracted by Chris, and Phichit collects himself in time to change the subject.

“Where’s everyone else?” Phichit asks, glancing around Prija as if the resort lobby behind her holds any answers. He’s probably just more tired than he thinks.

“Sleeping,” she replies with a smile. “I got elected to be the late-night one-woman greeting party. You’ll get to meet everyone tomorrow,” she adds, for Chris’ benefit. “Besides, we all thought you guys would like to sleep off the jetlag before being drowned in wedding prep.”

“That—” Phichit spares a glance for Chris, who’s watching everything with tired eyes behind his glasses and a faint smile on his face. “That actually sounds great. We’ll deal with Chaisai and Anada tomorrow…”

 _“O _h_ , buddy, _ ” Prija says in Thai, grabbing Phichit’s suitcase and laughing. _“It’s not the twins you’ve got to worry about, it’s your parents._ ”

Phichit tugs their shared present suitcase out of Chris’ hands and starts following Prija, motioning for Chris to come along as well. “ _Our parents?_ ”

“ _Let’s just say mom’s not the happiest with not knowing the moment you two shacked up_ ,” Prija says, sing-song. “ _I must say, though, the photos don’t do your boy Chris any justice_.”

Phichit blushes and glances at Chris, who raises a bemused eyebrow, probably at having his name mentioned in a sentence he can’t understand. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Phichit looks back at Prija before muttering, “ _They really don’t._ ”

She gives him a look he can’t decipher, but their conversation is cut short as Prija stops in front of a room and pulls out some keycards.

“Here you go,” she says, in English again. “Breakfast is down in the room to the right of the lobby, from seven to ten—take your time coming down, though, if you can’t find us just send me or the twins a text and we’ll come get you.”

“Sounds good.”

Prija hands the cards to Chris, before pulling Phichit into another bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, little bro.” Then she hugs Chris, who looks taken aback; Phichit would laugh if he weren’t too busy dying inside. “And nice to meet you, Chris. Alright, I’ll see you two in the morning! Goodnight! Sleep tight!” She says this last with a wink—Phichit is too tired to interpret it immediately.

Everything becomes clear as soon as they open the door and shuffle into the room, because there’s only one bed. Chris and Phichit exchange a glance.

“You take it,” they say in unison.

“You’re my guest,” Phichit objects, immediately. “You’re only here because I’m an idiot anyways, so—”

“No, _you_ take it, I’m determined to be the gallant fake boyfriend here, so—”

“You’re older—”

“Hey! I’m _twenty-six_ , Chulanont, watch your mouth—”

“Chris—”

“Look,” Chris says, finally. He rubs an eye beneath his glasses. “It’s a big bed. If you really hate the idea, we don’t have to, but I’m absolutely fine with sharing. I can handle wearing pyjamas for one week.”

Instead of asking if Chris actually sleeps in the nude, Phichit sighs. “I guess you have a point… I’m kind of a sleep cuddler, though, so fair warning.”

“Duly noted. I like cuddles,” Chris replies, with a wink.

They start getting ready, and Chris wins the rock-paper-scissors match to get first use of the bathroom. While Chris is in there, showering and doing—well, whatever he does to keep his skin looking so soft all the time, Phichit takes a quick look around the room, his eyes settling on the linen closet in the corner.

He storms over. If he can get spare bedsheets out, then he can set himself up on the floor and Chris can’t object—only, when he opens the closet, it’s empty. He narrows his eyes.

“Prija,” he hisses.

“Hm?” Chris says, stepping out of the bathroom. He’s in loose, flamingo-patterned sweats and a semi-transparent tank top that reads ‘I’LL BE THERE IN A PROSECCO’. The water’s got his hair sticking up at funny angles, too. Phichit’s never really seen him this dishevelled.

Phichit bites his lip. “Nothing,” he says. “I’ll just… go…”

Chris shrugs and steps out of the way, making a beeline for the bed. Phichit showers, quicker than he’s ever showered before, because the moment the hot water started running, he’d been overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He barely even bothers drying his hair, slipping instead into his own pyjamas—hamster-patterned; a gift from Prija—and perfunctorily brushing his teeth before crawling into bed.

Chris, who’d waited up for him, turns the lights off with a soft ‘goodnight’, both of them on the edge of their respective sides of the bed, trying to pretend they’re not within arm’s reach of each other.

After about twenty minutes of silent, twitchy awkwardness, Chris sighs and rolls over to face Phichit’s back.

“Phichit,” he whispers softly.

Phichit, who has his eyes determinedly shut, hums in response.

“Can we just—would you just come here? Can we just embrace the situation?”

Phichit’s silent for a moment, but then the tired part of his brain gives in. _Just for tonight,_ he promises himself, scooting more towards the center of the bed. Chris drapes an arm over Phichit’s waist, and after just a few moments, Chris’ warmth and steady breaths have lulled him to sleep.


	3. JUNE 4TH, T -144.962944 HOURS - JUNE 4TH, -136.120038 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being pleasantly buzzed is possibly not the _smartest_ way to go to a family dinner, but it’s definitely the most enjoyable.

**JUNE 4TH, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T - 144.962944 HOURS (6 days)**

For a second, when Phichit wakes up, he thinks it’s winter back in Detroit; it was the only time of his life where he had an excuse to wrap himself in a truly excessive amount of blankets and abuse the space heaters in an effort to reach _maximum coziness_. This feels just as good. Soft sheets, Chris warm and solid behind him—

 _Chris,_ Phichit remembers, and freezes. There’s no movement behind him but the steady, gentle rise and fall of Chris’s breathing, so Chris must still be asleep. Phichit takes a slow, deep breath, willing his heartbeat to return to a more reasonable pace, preferably one that doesn’t feel like it’s about to burst out of his chest. Chris is just sleeping, spooning Phichit with an arm over his waist—it’s cool, really. It’s fine. Not a problem. Totally what he signed up for.

Gently, trying to avoid disturbing Chris, Phichit reaches for his phone on the bedside table. It’s already almost 9:00, which is pretty late by Phichit’s standards. He has several texts.

 _prija: hey remember it’s 7-10 for breakfast!! <3 _  
_chaisai: u up?_  
_anada: COME EAAAAAT!!!!! :D :D :D WE’RE AT BREAKFAST_  
_anada: PHICHIIIIIIT_  
_anada: :( RUDE_  
_chaisai: can u please come down he won’t stop_  
_anada: CHAI IS SLANDERING ME BUT WE MISS YOU COME DOWN_  
_prija: phichit, anada’s being himself again, where are you?_  
_prija: this is Familial Neglect and i am Appalled, phichit chulanont_ _  
anada: :( :( :( brooooo_

Phichit lets out a soft laugh without thinking. Chris stirs behind him, pulling Phichit a little closer, and hums.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Chris says, teasingly. His voice is still raspy from sleep, and Phichit tries not to tense from the butterflies in his stomach at the sound. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Phichit says, as Chris rolls onto his back. His tank top’s ridden up pretty far; Phichit gets a good long look at a _lot_ of bare midriff until Chris sits up. “What about you, _sweetheart?_ ” Thankfully, he’s pulled himself together enough to sound playful, and Chris grins at him.

“Very well! Could’ve used more sleep cuddling, though.” With a quick yawn, Chris gets up and makes for the bathroom, and Phichit is left to worry about the impending insanity that will be breakfast with his family.

He sends off a quick text to the three interested parties:

_phichit: we’re up we’re up we’re coming, save us some good stuff_

Phichit sets his phone back down on the nightstand and rolls onto his back. This turns out to be a mistake, because within seconds, his phone vibrates enough to almost fall off the table. Phichit lunges for it and just barely catches it.

 _anada: :OOOOOO “WE”!!!!!_  
_prija: fucking finally_  
_prija: you realize sharing a bed means you have less beds to make_  
_chaisai: hurry please anada’s bouncing_  
_anada: I WANNA MEET HIM!!!!!!_ _  
anada: does he do autographs_

Phichit all but throws his phone away as Chris re-emerges from the bathroom. Something must show on his face, though, because Chris furrows his brows—and he’s squinting a little, not having bothered with his glasses, and honestly that’s just unfairly cute—and frowns at Phichit.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I—” Phichit chuckles nervously for a second. “Can I apologize in advance for the chaos that you’re about to experience?”  

“No need,” Chris says, amused. “I’m looking forward to it.”

They intend to get dressed quickly, but as soon as Chris opens his suitcase he seems lost. Phichit pauses in the bathroom doorway, clutching a pair of jeans and his favorite _King and the Skater_ tank top. “What’s up?”

“What are you wearing?” Chris asks, turning to look at him, and Phichit blinks and holds it up. Chris frowns at his suitcase.

“It’s just breakfast, I’m pretty sure anything’s fine,” he says, and then stops himself. “Wait, or do you think we should do that thing where we’re kind of matching? Is that a thing people actually do?”

“I don’t think we need to match, I’m just judging my own lack of family-friendly casual wear,” Chris says, and Phichit has to try not to laugh at his tone. He does tend to wear pretty deep v-necks.

“I think they can handle most things, just—please tell me you brought swimwear that’s not a speedo.”

“Of course!” Chris says, looking affronted at Phichit. Then he considers something, and shrugs. “I mean, I _did_ also bring a speedo, but…” Phichit rolls his eyes, but can’t keep the smile off his face—and Chris returns it before turning back to his suitcase. He digs around, and Phichit takes the chance to slip into the bathroom and actually get ready.

When he comes back out, Chris is finally dressed—he’s wearing dark pants and a thin white T-shirt with a surprisingly high neckline. Somehow this makes him look even more devastating, and it takes Phichit at least two full seconds to remember that’s he’s supposed to breathe.

“Ready?” Chris asks, lightly, as if he has no idea that if Phichit snapped a picture right now he could probably sell it to Vogue or something. Or keep it for himself forever, as a souvenir of a fake and perfect love life.

Phichit nods, and does what he always does when he’s nervous: smiles. Chris holds out a hand, and Phichit takes it.

The breakfast room is big and full of windows, and the first thing Phichit notices is the twins bent over on of their phones at a table with Emilio Pellicer.

“Yeah, I was just experimenting with that one, you know,” he hears Emilio say, as they get closer. Chaisai seems interested, but Anada is already looking up, and his whole face lights up with explosive delight when he spots Chris and Phichit.

“Phichit!” Anada shouts, standing up and toppling over the chair, and then all hell breaks loose. The twins immediately run over and tackle-hug Phichit, and in the small part of his brain that’s not busy trying to avoid falling over backwards, Phichit notices his parents, Prija, and Alba all making their way over as well. Chris, amused and slightly unused to sibling antics, stands off to the side and effectively lets Phichit drown in brotherly affection.

Emilio, trailing behind with his hands in his pockets, is the first one to actually reach Chris, much to Anada’s eternal disappointment. Phichit doesn’t actually catch them saying hello, though, because Anada is talking. _“We were waiting for you for_ so long, _you must be slacking off with the training, huh? I thought you two would be awake at like, six, and anyway it’s been forever, so you could have been more excited to see us! But I guess if you have a_ boyfriend _now—”_

 _“I’m glad you’re here, Phichit,”_ Chaisai interrupts, and Phichit just has to hug them both back extra hard for a second.

 _“Me, too, I missed you guys. Anada, cut me some slack, it’s called jet lag,”_ Phichit says, fondly, and turns to face the rest of the family with an arm over both of their shoulders.

Chris, by now, has moved on to Alba and her parents and is doing the cheek-kissing thing that the Pellicers do, far more naturally than Phichit did when he first met them. Prija seems to be thinking something along those lines, because she looks up at Phichit and waggles her eyebrows. _Smooth boyfriend,_ she mouths.

Phichit’s about to flip her off when his parents approach, so he reconsiders.

He does, however, let go of the twins as his mother wraps him in a tight embrace, his father hugging them both, and tightly enough to make Phichit wheeze, just a little.

 _“We’re so happy to see you, Phichit,”_ his mother says when they’re both able to breathe again.

 _“And that both you and your boyfriend could get the time off!”_ his father adds with a disarming smile. Phichit’s stomach twists a little. _“So? Are you going to introduce us?”_ Phichit’s stomach twists a bit more, but he just smiles wider.

 _“Of course—_ hey, Chris!” he calls, and Chris finishes greeting Alba’s father and comes over, placing his hand casually on Phichit’s lower back. “These are my parents, Malivalaya and Sunya.”  

“ _Pleased to meet you_ ,” Chris says, with a thoroughly endearing accent. Phichit’s parents seem pleasantly surprised, and Malivalaya sends an approving look at Phichit.

Chris holds out a hand, but Phichit’s mom pulls him into a hug instead, which Chris accepts with grace. Then his mother stands back, her hands still on Chris’ shoulders. “ _Call me Mali._ It’s so nice to finally meet you, Phichit has been telling us about you for years—” Phichit forces himself to laugh instead of glance guiltily at Chris.

“We’re very happy for both of you,” Phichit’s father adds, taking Chris’ hand and shaking it. “I hope you had a good flight?”

“Oh, it was excellent,” Chris answers smoothly. He nudges Phichit with an elbow. “Phichit makes a great pillow, you know.”

“Hey!” Phichit says, while both his and Alba’s parents, Claudia and Tomás, chuckle gamely along, clearly charmed. That’s just the sort of effect Chris has on people, Phichit supposes.

“You’re such a dear. Sadly we’ll have to get to know you better later, we have to take care of the seating arrangements for the wedding since _some people_ couldn’t be bothered,” Phichit’s mom says, leaning sideways to glance around Chris at a suspiciously innocent-looking Prija.

“Hey!” Prija says, “Yoga is a perfectly good reason to not be able to think about extended family politics.” Beside her, Alba smiles, and Phichit notices their fingers twining together with a bizarre mix of happiness and envy and—well, the knowledge that he could easily be doing that himself, but it wouldn’t be _that_.

“I’m still surprised you’re even up this early by choice,” Phichit teases, but for once Prija takes it in stride.

“What can I say? Couple’s yoga is fun.”

“You should have seen her the first few times, though,” Alba adds. “I had to make her breakfast for a week just to get her to try it.” As Phichit laughs, Alba looks at Chris with a sort of knowing friendliness. “I’m pretty sure that’s how you get most Chulanonts to try anything, just so you know. Food bribery.”

Phichit’s about to start pointing out that he trains like a madman and is usually on a strict meal plan when he spots Chris grinning out of the corner of his eye. “Duly noted,” Chris says. “What do you think about yoga, love?”

This is just unfair. Phichit’s seen Chris stretching before, and it was hard enough to focus then, and now he has to deal with everyone making him imagine bendy, half-naked yoga posing in close proximity _—_ this is a _terrible idea._ Phichit’s internal monologue does not prevent him from uttering, however, a fatal “Sure! Why not?”

“Wow,” Chris says, grinning widely at Phichit before looking back at Alba. “Didn’t even need bribery, that time!”

“Oh, I’ll take a bribe,” Phichit says, because his mouth has developed an unfortunate life of its own. “Feel free to bribe me.”

Chris’ smile grows sly. “Well, you’re about to get food. We’ll have to think of something else.”  
Faintly, Phichit registers Prija choking on her water bottle.

“Okay!” Phichit says, louder than he intends to. His parents are laughing at him, he can tell. Alba’s parents too, probably. He grabs Chris’ sleeve, tugging on it lightly. “Let’s go eat. Food. Eat breakfast! And you can go do your, uh, yoga—” Prija coughs again. “—and _you_ can go do your planning, and we’ll all meet up again for—when do we need to meet up again?”

“Supper,” Alba says, faintly amused. “More food, so whatever _else_ you’re doing needs to be done before then.” Prija snorts, kind of loudly, and Alba shoots her a fond look. “We’ll be off, then. Catch you later!” Their hands are still linked as they leave, and the two sets of parents trail out after them, leaving Chris and Phichit at the mercy of the twins and Emilio.

“Food!” Anada says, darting back to the table and picking up his chair before sitting in it and starting to chow down on the remainder of his plate, which is stacked with at least four pancakes that Phichit can count. Chaisai’s plate is equally loaded, and what Emilio lacks in pancakes, he makes up for in bacon.

Chris happily fills up his plate at the buffet, and Phichit follows suit, automatically piling on the fruit and then some scrambled eggs—this week is going to make Celestino very unhappy, he can tell, but at least for now he can try and minimize the damage.

“Oh, you’re not being naughty?” Chris asks, grinning, as he adds two fluffy pancakes and a generous heap of bacon to his plate. He looks very pleased with himself, and Phichit has to smile.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Phichit says, meaning the diet plan, but Chris raises an eyebrow at his phrasing.

“During yoga?”

Phichit sticks his tongue out at him, and Chris flicks the tip of Phichit’s nose with one finger before they sit down. Anada and Chaisai exchange a look.

“So, Chris,” Anada asks, immediately, “I have a lot of questions, but I was told that I should let you eat first, so instead we’re looking at Emilio’s spoken word videos because he’s going to make a poem for the wedding.”

“You write poetry?” Chris asks, looking at Emilio.

“I _speak_ poetry,” Emilio says, solemnly. Chaisai, bless him, nods seriously along.

Phichit never thought it would be a relief to hear spoken word poetry, especially after getting dragged to a grungy little bar in Detroit during his second year of university—it was a bad first date with a literature major—but Chris seems to find all this interesting, or at the very least is charmed by the novelty of weird teenage siblings, and Anada’s barely-restraining-myself face is a reminder that the alternative is probably worse. Emilio’s earnest comments about rhythm and internal rhymes are more interesting than the lit major had made it sound, at least.

Eventually, Chris gets his plate to a state of almost-emptiness—and finishes off his second cup of coffee—and Anada pushes aside his plate and interlocks his fingers, staring seriously at Chris.

“So, Chris,” he says again.

“Jeez, you even _sound_ like a B-movie villain,” Phichit mutters. Anada shoots him an offended look, but doesn’t deign to reply.

“I have some questions.”

Chris smiles indulgently, swiping the last bit of syrup off his plate with a piece of pancake. “Go right ahead,” he says. Phichit makes eye contact with Chaisai, but Chaisai doesn’t seem too worried, which is a good sign—it means Anada won’t be going too far off the rails. Probably.

“What is… your favorite animal?”

Phichit releases a snort that is equal parts relief and amusement, and also smiles, because he knows the answer to this one. Sure enough, Chris is reaching for his phone.

“Oh, that’s easy!” Chris says, smiling fondly as he opens his gallery. “This is Duchess. Isn’t she beautiful?” Phichit knows there’s no less than 1287 photos of Duchess in that folder of Chris’ phone, mostly because he’s seen at least two-thirds of them. Anada and Chaisai coo in sync, and even Emilio—who Phichit knows for fact is more of a dog person—seems won over by Duchess’ silky fur and photogenic talent.

“Okay, now I have a hard one.” Anada pauses, and there’s a definite air of _drama_ about it that makes Phichit smile and roll his eyes. “If Karpisek wasn’t your coach, would you rather Celestino or Yakov?”

Chaisai smirks a little, and Phichit immediately knows who really cooked that one up.

“Yakov’s a big softie, he’d let Victor get away with murder,” Chris says, still very much amused. “Besides, I think Celestino would be a bit shocking. So much _hair._ ”

“I’m telling,” Phichit says, unable to resist. “But, you know, I’m not sure he’ll be too torn up. He’s used to skaters who show up to practice and listen to instruction.” This is a dig at Victor, mostly, but Chris has definitely pulled enough crap with Karpisek to have earned this, and Chris knows it.

“I listen! I listen, and then I _decide for myself_ ,” Chris shoots back, with a cheeky grin and a shrug.

“Okay, final question,” Anada says, loudly, like he’s interrupting something. “Do you follow us on Twitter, and if not, _why?_ ”

Chris laughs, surprised, and picks up his phone again. “I’m afraid you still need to tell me your Twitter handle,” he says, graciously, and for a second Phichit thinks about the fan in the airport—how much happier Chris looks answering random silly questions from the twins than he does talking to fans or reporters, nowadays, despite the fact that it’s all the same amount of tiptoeing, given their current circumstances.

“It’s @nonelattes,” Anada explains. “Because _nada_ is none in spanish, and _chai_ is tea in—well, I forget, but it’s tea.”

“Very clever,” Chris says, and Anada beams. Chaisai’s all done with his food, though, and looks like he’s itching to get out of the dining room; Emilio’s solidly absorbed in his phone.

“Hey,” Phichit says, pushing away his plate. “I’m done, are you guys done?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Anada says, looking down at his empty plate. “We gotta go, actually. Important wedding stuff. Top secret.”

“Same,” Emilio says, without looking up from his phone. Phichit suspects that this is really about ditching the older crowd— _since when has he been part of the “older crowd”?_

They bustle out together, loudly, Anada testing out his heavily accented Spanish as he tails after Emilio. Phichit’s nowhere near fluent enough to understand what’s being said, but they sneak knowing looks back at him and Chris before slipping away.

“Well, I think the worst is over. At least until dinner,” Phichit says, turning to Chris.

“I like them,” Chris says. “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?”

Phichit considers this. No disasters, no slip-ups, no personality clashes… all in all, despite the embarrassment, it’s been weirdly good. “Yeah, actually.” Chris is smiling at him, very self-satisfied, and it makes Phichit’s stomach do a funny flippy thing that he decides to ignore. “So, we should probably figure out what we’re doing today, right?”

“I thought I saw a schedule on the desk in our room,” Chris says.

 _Our room,_ Phichit thinks. Out loud, he suggests they go have a look.

As soon as they cross the doorway into their room, Phichit realizes their mistake. The curtains are closed. This means the room is cast in almost-darkness, and, suddenly, he realizes he’s actually pretty jet-lagged. Next to him, Chris yawns.

“Same,” Phichit mumbles, stifling a yawn of his own. Chris rubs at his eye.

“You know, I drank a lot of coffee in hopes that it would wake me up, but it’s just. Not working,” he says.

“We should… do something,” Phichit says. _Yoga_ , is what he intends to add, but Chris beats him to it with an alternative.

“Nap?” he says, hopefully, already staring longingly at the bed.

“There’s only the one bed,” Phichit replies. Chris stares at him for a second. Then he looks away and shrugs.

“We managed last night, and I’m too jet-lagged to care.” When Phichit hesitates—mainly because, well, sleeping in the same bed as his crush is already hard enough when they’re _supposed_ to be sleeping, but now it’s only barely just daytime, and they really probably shouldn’t take naps, on account of timezones and all—Chris grabs his hand and pulls him down onto the sheets.

“Chris—”

“Shh… five minutes…” Chris says, his breathing already beginning to even out. Phichit looks at him for a moment before yawning again. He gives up when his eyelids start to close against his will.

“Mm. Okay. Just five minutes.”

 

**JUNE 4TH, ROOM 413, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T - 139.894756 HOURS (6 days)**

“I think we missed yoga,” Chris says when Phichit wakes up.

Phichit’s sleep cuddling habit has reared its deeply unfortunate head. Chris seems unfazed by the fact that Phichit is currently facing him, with one leg and both arms draped over him. Phichit also realizes, with no small amount of horror, that he must’ve had his head buried in the space between Chris’ neck and shoulder. “Oh, no,” he says, softly.

“I didn’t realize you actually wanted to do yoga,” Chris laughs, quietly, and Phichit doesn’t bother correcting him. He kind of wants to go back to sleep. Chris is very comfy, and the arm around Phichit’s waist is very nice.

“Mm,” Phichit says, trying to convince himself that it’s a bad idea to nod off while he’s still on top of Chris. Chris moves, reaching for something, and Phichit groans a little as he’s dislodged. There’s a crinkle of paper, and then a thoughtful hum.

“Well, according to the schedule, the dinner buffet starts at six, which still gives us three hours or so.”

Phichit rolls a little so that he’s on his back. He’s still sleepy, but without the space heater that is Chris, he’s significantly less comfy. “Anything look good on there?”

“Depends what you consider good, I suppose. Although, there is a note that all the bars here are included in the price of the stay? How do piña coladas sound? They’re open all day.”

Phichit smacks his lips. “I mean,” he says, and doesn’t finish. There is no possible objection.

“They’ll probably even have those cutesy little paper umbrellas…” Chris cajoles, and Phichit laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I can’t say no to cute little umbrellas.”

“Perfect,” Chris says, and struggles up to sitting. He looks through the papers on their nightstand, finally pulling out a map of the resort. “Okay, so it looks like there’s a bar in the lobby and then two on the beach, what’s your call?”

“Beach,” Phichit says, before thinking it through and realizing this probably means Chris is going to be at least half-naked. _Oh God,_ he thinks, as Chris gets up and digs through his suitcase for something that, hopefully, isn’t a speedo. _I’m going to die._

Phichit continues to lie prone on the bed until Chris disappears into the bathroom, at which point he hauls himself up and opens the windows. The sun is blindingly bright outside, reflecting off the sand and the ocean. There’s quite a few people out on the beach already, but it’s nowhere near as crowded as it could be.

Phichit goes back to his suitcase and digs around for his own swimsuit, finding it just in time for Chris to stroll out of the bathroom, wearing something that’s… _technically_ not a speedo, but _man._ Chris catches him staring, and strikes a pose.

“Like what you see?” he says with a wink.

“Pft,” Phichit replies, which in Phichit-speak translates to something along the lines of ‘holy fuck I’m so thirsty right now’. Phichit practically sprints to the bathroom with his swimsuit, and hopes Chris doesn’t notice.

When he re-emerges, Chris is—thankfully, for Phichit’s sanity—wearing a tank top, as well as sunglasses perched atop his hair. He still looks devastatingly good, but at least it’s a bearable devastation.

“You ready?” Chris asks. Phichit drops his clothes onto the bed and grabs his own sunglasses—electric green frames and heart-shaped lenses, a gift from Yuuri that was probably supposed to be ironic—and nods.

“For piña coladas? Always.”

 

**JUNE 4TH, MAIN DINING HALL, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T - 136.120038 HOURS (6 days)**

Being pleasantly buzzed is possibly not the _smartest_ way to go to a family dinner, but it’s definitely the most enjoyable.

“I think I have to loosen up a bit,” Phichit says, absently swinging Chris’ hand back and forth along with his own. He’s not sure how long they’ve been holding hands, but it’s nice, and Chris is all handsome in his button-up—he changes his clothes a _lot_ , but then so does Phichit, usually—and it’s just _good_.

“You seemed nervous at breakfast,” Chris observes, still smiling like something’s funny. “I didn’t go too far with anything, did I?”

“No! We barely did anything. You know what? That’s no fun. This should be fun, it’s a wedding,” Phichit points out, quite seriously. Chris’ eyebrows raise slightly higher. “Also, we haven’t taken any pictures yet, and that’s practically a crime.”

Chris stops walking to pull out his phone with the hand that’s not currently seized by Phichit. “Well, we can fix that immediately, _Liebling."_

Chris leans in, and Phichit mirrors him, until both of them are firmly within the frame. Chris tilts the phone just so, so that the beach behind them is also captured. It’s that golden hour of photography where the sun makes everything seem so richly colored, and when Chris flips to his gallery to show Phichit the photo, Phichit could almost pretend that what they have—that the soft expression on both their faces as they peer at the camera—could be _real._

“I think it turned out alright, what do you think?” Chris asks.

“Yeah,” Phichit agrees. “It turned out great. You should, um. Post it. Do you think they’ll have any wine at dinner?”

Chris laughs, adjusting his grip on the phone so he can navigate to Instagram. “Probably… it’s a fancy resort with free piña coladas, they’ve got to, don’t they?”

“Excellent,” Phichit says. He squeezes Chris’ hand. Might as well take advantage while he can, right?

It doesn’t take them long upon entering the dining hall to locate Phichit’s family. This is definitely due to Prija’s over-enthusiastic waving as she gestures them over to the two tables that have been pulled together to make room for everyone.

“You guys need to go get your food,” Prija says by way of greeting, her mouth already stuffed. Alba lightly smacks her arm, because Alba doesn’t think talking with your mouth full is polite.

“Oh! Right,” Phichit says, spinning around. It’s only once he and Chris have to let go of each other in order to grab food from the buffet that it even occurs to Phichit that his entire family just saw him drag Chris along with him. It’s probably good for their charade, but Phichit still can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt about lying to his family. This is, of course, the moment he realizes that dinner tonight will be an _experience._

They pass Prija on their way back to the table as she goes to get her second plate, Emilio tailing her a few steps behind.

Chris and Phichit sit down to already-full wine glasses, and Phichit takes a sip as Chris gets asked questions right off the bat. It starts off with easy questions—“So, Chris, you’re from Switzerland?” “Yep! Born and raised.”—and gradually devolves into such things as literature, Prija’s latest bioengineering project in the lab, and the struggles Alba’s facing with trying to balance her modelling with law school.

Phichit smiles and cleans off his plate as Chris sympathizes—he’s done some modelling before, and aren’t they always so demanding? Alba seems delighted to share this with Chris, and Phichit’s mother sends him a proud, approving glance that makes his happiness shrivel up immediately.

He excuses himself to get more food.

When he comes back, Chris smiles happily at him before turning back to his conversation.

“So, Alba, Prija—I have a very important question to ask you,” Chris says, leaning forward slightly over the table.

“Oh?” Prija says, raising an eyebrow.

“Phichit mentioned briefly that you’d met in college?”

Prija smiles a little sheepishly, while Alba grins. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, Phichit said something about a party and that I really _had_ to get the details from you two, so… how did you meet?”

“Oh boy,” Prija groans, turning and burying her face in Alba’s shoulder while Alba laughs. Around the rest of the table there’s a few other snickers as well, and even Phichit—who’s lived through the experience of Prija calling him at all hours of the morning in various states of Alba-induced crisis—has to smile.

“Well, you know we both went to the same place for university? I was studying law, Prija was studying biomechanical engineering,” Alba says, and Chris nods. “Right, so—well, we were both nerds—”

“Are still nerds,” Phichit butts in. Prija covertly flips him the bird from an angle none of the parents can see.

“—so we were both part of the Honors program. And this Honors program had this sort of… this mixer, I guess? All these students from various fields. This one,” Alba says, nudging Prija, “somehow ended up in the middle of a gaggle of talkative pre-law students—”

“Listen, Chris? ‘Talkative’? Is an understatement. They wouldn’t _shut up_ —”

“Mmhm,” Alba says, smoothly interrupting Prija in a way that spoke of years of practice. “Anyways, I’m taking a break from socializing, just enjoying my drink, when Prija comes over and basically collapses next to me and says, and I quote: ‘I need a break from all those lawyers’.”

“You make me sound so awful!” Prija whines, making a pouty face at Alba. “It was an honest mistake!”

Chris laughs. “I take it you only discovered she was a lawyer after the fact?”

Alba smiles at him. “Nailed it. So I tell her I _am_ one of those lawyers, to which Prija replies, ‘you’re so much less obnoxious so I just assumed you weren’t!’” Everyone at the table is laughing now, in part also because of Prija’s exaggerated shameful expression.

“Anyways,” Prija says, straightening up from where she’s just pretended to die of embarrassment, “I made an ass of myself and Alba laughed, and her laugh was so beautiful it made me fall in love, and somehow I ended up with her number and here we are!”

Chris makes a show of clapping, joined quickly enough by Anada and Emilio. “What a story,” he says.

“And how about you and Phichit?” Claudia asks. “You’re a skater too, yes?”

“Yup!” Chris says, and looks over to Phichit. Phichit bites his lip, but still manages to smile—it’s time to test if their web of lies really can hold up. “Unfortunately, I think our story is a lot less of a meet-cute than Alba and Prija’s—but you can’t really skate at the international level without knowing most of your competitors, if not personally than at least by name.”

“Yeah,” Phichit says, nodding along. “I mean, by the time I got internationally into Juniors, Chris was already competing in Seniors, so we didn’t really actually meet until a few years later when we were both on the Senior circuit, but I’ve always looked up to his skating. More than Victor’s, even.”

Several people around the table make crooning noises, but Phichit’s only paying attention to the way Chris’ eyes widen in surprise. Like he can’t believe that Phichit would actually say something like that. This makes Phichit suddenly quite irrationally angry, and he turns back to the parents.

“No, really! You have to understand, like, Victor? He’s good. Really good. But Chris is just… Chris always seems to pull in more of the audience? He doesn’t just skate to perfection, he skates to _emotion_ , and even if it’s not always as technically perfect as Victor’s it’s—he’s just really fun to watch. And his Lutz is amazing, you won’t find a better quad anywhere, not even with Victor.”

There’s a moment of silence around the table, and then Phichit finds himself enveloped by strong arms, a brush of stubble against his neck where Chris tucks his head close to Phichit’s. _“Caro...”_

Phichit blushes. “Anyways. The point is, Chris is a fantastic skater. That’s all.”

“Of course,” Chris adds, though never letting go of Phichit. “You’ve all seen Phichit skate, I assume, so I don’t need to tell you this sentiment is mutual.” He looks at Phichit then, and his gaze is so soft that Phichit feels himself blush.

“You two are gross,” Anada says cheerfully around a mouthful of rice.

“Yeah, _we’re_ supposed to be the most lovey-dovey couple here,” Prija says, turning to Alba with a pout.

Alba, eyes twinkling, immediately places her hands on both sides of Prija’s face and kisses her nose sweetly. “Love you.”

Prija, Phichit is interested to note, also blushes.

“Ah, remember when we were that young?” Claudia says to Tomás. Emilio groans.

“When dinosaurs roamed the earth,” he mutters, earning a laugh from Anada. Chaisai frowns at them, and then turns to Phichit and Chris.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” he says, quietly.

Phichit and Chris exchange a look, and Phichit struggles not to flash his press conference smile, which immediately makes him feel like an asshole. It’s just his little brother; he shouldn’t feel so antsy.

“True,” Chris says, eventually. “I suppose it’s hard to pick a moment that we really _met_ , though, because honestly we’ve been in each other’s orbits for so long that it just…”

“It was just really gradual,” Phichit offers, and Chris nods. Chaisai seems to accept this, and watches them as they both take a sip of wine. Phichit tries not to think about how weirdly in sync they are, until Chris smiles at him, evidently thinking the same thing.

“Victor and Yuuri’s wedding changed us, though,” Chris mentions, lightly. Phichit blinks—it’s not really part of the ‘it was gradual’ narrative they’ve built up, but it is _true_ , and he wonders why Chris is bringing it up.

“How so?” Prija asks, as Alba gets up for another wine bottle. Her smile suggests that whatever Chris says is about to become prime heckling material for at least the next decade. Phichit decides to trust Chris despite this; they’ve talked about all this enough, by this point, that Chris should know what to say. Besides, after another long sip of wine, he remembers that he needs to _loosen up._

“We spent more time together,” Chris says, easily, and takes Phichit’s free hand in his own. “Planning the bachelor party—”

Improvisation seems like a great idea, for no reason tipsy Phichit can pinpoint. “Chris! They don’t need to know what happened at the bachelor party,” he whines, a tad theatrically, shooting Chris a playful look. Chris grins.

“Of course, my darling, I wouldn’t want to repeat any scandalous and unforgettable details,” he says, smoothly. Phichit doesn’t have to pretend to be pleased. “But yes, it was a good time. And I found out how dashing Phichit looks in formalwear.”

Prija smiles and holds up a hand. Phichit high-fives her; he knows exactly what sort of thing she’s about to say. “Us Chulanonts clean up well, am I right or am I right?”

“You’re right,” Phichit agrees, mock-solemnly. “Like all Chulanonts, of course.”

Alba returns just in time to laugh, as does Phichit, even though it’s his own joke, and Prija sends a smitten glance at her fiancée before sneaking a look at Chris. Whatever she sees, Phichit doesn’t catch, but Chris squeezes his hand.

The conversation moves on to other things, but Phichit is distracted by the way Chris has idly moved their hands so that he can trace patterns along Phichit’s palm and wrist and forearm. It’s not that it _tickles_ , exactly—it’s nice, but it also makes his skin feel like it needs something more.

At some point, Chris leans over to whisper in Phichit’s ear.

“How are you feeling, _chéri?_ Loosened up?” Chris’ tone is teasing, and Phichit once again blushes. He wonders, as he responds with a small nod, if it’s the wine or just him that’s making the room feel so warm—definitely has nothing to do with the very attractive, very touchy-feely Chris hanging off of him, though. Nope.

Then Chris turns to look Phichit in the eye, a wine-induced flush on his gorgeously tanned cheeks, and before Phichit can stop himself, he’s reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair out of Chris’ face. Chris smiles warmly, and brushes his thumb over Phichit’s cheek.

“Ah, _tesoro_ , you really are gorgeous,” he says.

Phichit blushes even further. Chris is a natural-born sweet-talker, and Phichit has no defences against the force of Chris’ charm. Not that he ever has. In fact, last time that he’d been exposed to the full brunt of Chris’ flirtations, it had been—

 

**DECEMBER 1ST, HASETSU, JAPAN, T - 4454.823753 HOURS (6 months, 3 days)**

Chris is pretty sure he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as Phichit Chulanont, which is saying something, because Chris models in his spare time and is also best friends with one Victor Nikiforov. The kicker is, Phichit isn’t even fully dressed up right now—it’s hours into the reception, he’s lost his jacket and his bowtie, and the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead makes it clear how much dancing Phichit’s been doing. Chis has danced with both the grooms, of course, but Phichit has danced with both of them, too—and Yuuri at least twice—as well as Leo, Guang-hong, Minami, Seung-gil, and probably the entire Katsuki clan besides.

His hair is sticking up at odd angles, his shirt is rumpled and sweaty, and as Chris watches, Phichit stumbles over approximately nothing, only just managing to avoid spilling his drink.

He’s captivating.

Maybe it’s his smile, or the way his happy laughter bubbles up as he pulls a scowling Yuri Plisetsky into a fast-paced salsa, or the way his eyes are so dark and yet glitter so beautifully—

The point is, Phichit looks good, and Chris quickly downs the last few sips of his champagne. Setting the glass down on an empty table, Chris strides over to where Yuri is spitting expletives despite the fact that he still hasn’t let go of Phichit’s hand.

“Mind if I cut in?” Chris asks. He tries not to read too much into the way Phichit’s smile widens at the question.

“Please fucking do,” Yuri says, letting go of Phichit and stalking off. Just barely audible is the word “ _dragged,_ ” which is less than surprising. Chris smoothly steps in, holding out a hand and placing the other gently on Phichit’s waist. If it’s a bit further back than strictly necessary for the dance, well. Can anyone blame him?

Phichit returns the dancing hold, grinning as the song turns into a slow, sensual rumba. Phichit and Chris slide into the beat at once, both in sync, and Chris rather enjoys the feel of Phichit’s hips swaying under his hand.

Phichit looks up at him, his eyeliner still flawlessly sharp, and smiles broadly.

Chris’ breath catches in his throat.

“Spin me,” Phichit says, already stepping out of their close posture in order to turn.

“Ah, _tesoro_ ,” Chris says, twirling Phichit out to the rumble of the drums. “You really are gorgeous.”

“Why thank you,” Phichit says, a little breathlessly, and then he winks. Chris can’t help but laugh—it’s just so _charming,_ seeing slender little Phichit oozing enough confidence and playfulness to fill a room—and Phichit’s smile widens. “You look gorgeous, too, Chris.” By now, Phichit’s spun back into Chris’ arms, and they’re pressed back-to-chest as they keep dancing. “You always do, though. I’d tell you all the time if I didn’t think you’d get tired of it.”

Drunk Phichit, Chris decides, is thoroughly delightful. “I’d never get tired of hearing it from you, _Schatzi,”_ he replies, lowering his head just enough that he can say it near Phichit’s ear. One of his hands goes back to Phichit’s hip, and Phichit shivers a little, still incandescent with happiness.

Phichit shoots Chris a knowing look, and Chris feels his own smile grow sly. “You’re being very shameless right now, Christophe Giacometti.”

“There’s just something about you that brings out my shameless side, Phichit Chulanont,” Chris replies, turning Phichit so that they’re face-to-face again. He almost regrets it, because the feel of having Phichit pressed up against him was _immensely_ satisfying. Almost: the feeling of Phichit’s pretty eyes looking up at him through those dark lashes is also immensely satisfying.

“Good,” Phichit says, obviously pleased. “I like it.” He pauses, and their dancing slows until they’re not really following the music anymore. Chris doesn’t particularly care, because Phichit’s smile is soft and he’s pressing his cheek into Chris’s chest all of a sudden. “I like you.”

Chris will think about this moment for a long time. He will also try to convince himself that the sudden, overwhelming rush of tenderness he feels for Phichit Chulanont is nothing but a few glasses of that famous champagne too many. In the moment, however, he can only bring himself to tighten his arms around Phichit and look as touched as he feels.

“I like you too, sweetheart,” Chris says. Mentally, he adds: _maybe a little too much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the by, [this here](https://www.dhresource.com/600x600/f2/albu/g1/M00/40/13/rBVaGFbN8a-AHXjCAADR48y-h-w015.jpg) is what chris is wearing to the beach :')
> 
> as always, you can find us at [@smol-merci](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) and [@piyo-13](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you want to yell at us over there :D


	4. JUNE 5TH, T -118.938748 HOURS - JUNE 5TH, T -109.363800 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glittery rainbow dicks sounded like a great idea until Duchess got into the glitter.

**JUNE 5TH, ROOM 413, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -118.938748 HOURS (5 days)**

When Phichit blearily opens his eyes, he’s alone and a little cold and his head is pounding something awful. It takes another second for him to realize that the cause of the first two is that Chris isn’t in bed—Phichit’s currently sprawled in the middle, sheets kicked down around his feet, and the room is the kind of silent that means no one’s there.

Phichit rolls over, a little wounded that Chris would just leave without him, and checks the time on the clock. It’s 9:35, which causes Phichit to sit up with a jolt and then immediately regret the action, on account of his head. He massages his temples as he glares at the clock—unless he’s mistaken, breakfast ends at _ten_ , and no one had bothered to wake him up for that? He’s no longer just wounded; he’s _offended._

His head thankfully stops throbbing quite so loudly—Phichit isn’t allowed to drink much at all during the competitive season, and that’s clearly showing in his tolerance now—so Phichit scoots himself over to the edge of the bed, at which point he notices the slip of paper stuck under the corner of the clock. He pulls it out.

> _My Dear Phichit,_
> 
> _You were sleeping pretty deeply so I thought I’d let you catch up. Went to grab us breakfast (8:30), should be back soon!_
> 
> _-C_

Chris has even doodled a little heart next to his name, which is probably more endearing than it should be.

With a sigh, Phichit lets himself fall back into bed. He should probably get himself to the bathroom, start washing up or something, but the bed is comfortable and Phichit doesn’t really feel like moving.

He’s starting to doze off again when he’s startled to alertness by the sound of the keycard clicking in the lock, and he struggles back up to sitting as Chris walks into the room.

“ _Guete Morgä, Schatzi_ ,” Chris says, entering with a tray piled high with food. He gives Phichit a smile, which turns quickly to a concerned frown. “You feeling alright?”

Phichit smiles wanly in return. “Free piña coladas are a menace.”

“Ahh,” Chris says knowingly. “Here,” he adds, sliding the clock out of the way and setting the tray down. “I’ll let you get started on the food while I grab you some water and aspirin.” Chris points at the food, then disappears into the bathroom.

“Oh. Thank you,” Phichit says, belatedly. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was, but now that the scent of fresh, buttery pancakes in syrup—topped with berries, just like Phichit likes them—has hit him, Phichit’s stomach makes itself known. He scoots closer to the nightstand, hesitating only slightly before digging in when he realizes there’s only one plate. Still, he practically moans in delight at the first mouthful.

“Thought you’d like those,” Chris says, grinning. “Here, take these first.” He hands Phichit two pills and a full glass of water, which Phichit eagerly takes before returning to the pancakes. Chris sits down on a chair a few feet away. “I tried to think what the furthest thing from your diet plan would be, and went with that.”

“If I wasn’t so busy having a mouth orgasm, I’d actually be annoyed at you for tempting me like this, you know,” Phichit warns sagely between ravenous bites while Chris waggles his eyebrows comically at Phichit’s phrasing. He’s about to take another when the fact that Chris isn’t eating once again strikes him. “Aren’t you—?”

“No, I ran into your family downstairs and ended up eating with them,” Chris says. Phichit experiences a small thrill of alarm, which Chris must be able to read on his face, because he airily waves a hand. “Don’t worry, they just think I’m being the model boyfriend and all.”

Phichit exhales, and maybe just stares a little longer at his next bite before actually eating it. “Mm. How was it?”

“Breakfast?”

“Mmhm.”

“Your family’s great, honestly. Chaisai and Anada do this thing where they finish each other’s sentences, I love it.”

Phichit smiles fondly. “Yeah, they do that sometimes.”

“They were talking to Emilio about some show or another, I think? I wasn’t following completely, but I know they called Emilio a hipster on two separate occasions.”

Phichit laughs outright at that. “What nerds, the lot of them,” he says, and stabs a blueberry, dunking it thoroughly in some extra syrup before eating it.

“Do you miss them?” Chris asks, unusually solemn.

“Well, yeah,” Phichit replies. “It’s the thing I hate most about skating, I think.” He pauses, deciding how much to say. “Like, they’re not children, but I still feel like I’m… missing seeing them grow up, I guess? Which sucks, as a certified older brother.”

Chris hums sympathetically as Phichit busies himself with what’s left of the pancakes again. He wonders briefly what it must have been like for Chris, being the only child in his family.

“Oh, by the way,” Chris says suddenly. “Important message from Prija—she told me to tell you that you, quote, ‘need to stop freeloading’, unquote, and that to help you achieve that goal, she has some—and the air-quotes are hers, just to be clear—‘fun activities’ planned for you. Us. I honestly don’t know, she’s very intimidating for a woman shorter even than you.”

“Tall asshole,” Phichit shoots back immediately, already despairing at what Prija’s definition of fun activities could even be.

“Oo, vicious,” Chris shoots back. Phichit sticks out his tongue in counter to Chris’ shit-eating grin.

“Did Prija say when?” Phichit asks, using the last of his pancake to mop up as much syrup as physically possible.

“ASAP, pretty much. She said they have supplies in their suite.”

“Of course they have a suite,” Phichit mutters, and Chris chuckles.

“They’re getting married, it’s practically law for them to have a suite. How else are you supposed to get your pre-marital sex quota in, if the only horizontal surface is the boring old bed?” Chris says with a wink. Phichit is, honestly, too gay to deal with that.

“Okay, first off, no, I never want to think about my _sister_ having _sex_ , gross; and secondly, I’m pretty sure the desk you’re sitting in front of counts as a horizontal surface?”

Chris turns to look at the desk behind him, then back to Phichit, bringing up a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Why, Phichit! You need to get your mind out of the gutter, young man, those sorts of thoughts are uncouth—”

“Oh my _god_ , you have _no right_ —” Phichit says, setting down his fork and lobbing a pillow at Chris’ face. Chris catches it, laughing, and narrows his eyes playfully.

“Oh, this means _war_ , Chulanont,” he says, standing up and veritably _stalking_ closer, the errant pillow held loosely in his hands.

“Haha, you—” Phichit’s words are quickly cut off by a pillow to the face, and he lets out an indignant squawk. “You—!”

He throws a pillow back at Chris, and then another, until Chris has somehow ended up with all the pillows and Phichit, none. They’re both laughing, and Phichit tries to scramble out of the way when Chris approaches with his fluffy army, only to find his feet tangled up in the sheets, and he shrieks as Chris dumps all the pillows on him at once and then lays himself over the pillows, effectively pinning Phichit to the bed.

“Unfair!” Phichit whines. “You’re a _tree!”_ _And I want to climb you like one_ , Phichit adds, thankfully not out loud.

“Excuse me, I prefer the term _ent,_ thank you very much.”

“I can’t believe you’re such a _dweeb_ ,” Phichit says.

“Good thing you don’t have to believe in things for them to be true,” Chris shoots back. Then he frowns. “No, wait—”

“You just royally burned yourself with that one,” Phichit snickers.

Chris groans theatrically. “Alright, suit yourself, you win this one,” he says, but doesn’t move. Phichit wiggles. It’s futile, because the only result he gets is more laughter from Chris.

“Let me up, you ent, before Prija decides to come get us herself.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, amiably, rolling off of Phichit and onto the bed.

“ _Thank_ you,” Phichit says. Then repeats it, but with less sarcasm. “Thank you, for breakfast and the water and the medicine.”

“Do you feel any better?” Chris asks, his smile gone from devious to kindly.

“Loads,” Phichit replies. “Be right back, gotta go get ready.”

“Mmhm. I’ll be here.”

“I should hope so,” Phichit mutters back, rummaging through his suitcase for a suitable outfit before going into the bathroom.

He emerges ten minutes later, dressed and washed and generally feeling more presentable than not.

“Ready?” he asks. Chris pockets his phone, giving Phichit a quick once-over.

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll have to lead the way, though,” Phichit says. “I don’t know which room is hers.” After a second of hesitation, Phichit holds out his hand. Chris furrows his brow slightly, before the realization dawns. Without a word, he takes Phichit’s hand and guides him through the resort, until they’re in a different building altogether. Chris knocks on room 202.

The door opens immediately to a breathless Prija, her hair done up in a messy bun and a streak of glitter on one cheek. Behind her, an equally breathless Alba has a tube of glitter glue.

“Hi! Perfect timing!” Prija says, sweeping Phichit and Chris into a big group hug and conspiratorially whispering, “Thanks for saving me, Alba was about to win our glitter battle.”

“I heard that!” Alba says, brandishing the glitter glue menacingly. “I’ll still win one of these days, you just watch, babe.”

“Mmhm, sure Jan,” Prija replies cheekily. “Alright you two, come on in, we’ve got everything for a _fantastic_ time set up at the table.”

Phichit leans close to Chris to whisper up at him. “‘Fantastic time’, my ass…”

Chris smiles slowly. “I don’t know, _mon cher_ , your ass does sound like a fantastic time.”

Phichit’s blushing and just about to find some clever retort—he _swears_ —when Prija claps her hands together.

“All right, if you’re done flirting over there, there’s actually some serious business to attend to!” She spreads her arms wide, gesturing at the whole of the table. Alba’s already back at what is clearly a work station, surrounded by heaps of black paper and several pairs of scissors. Scattered about the rest of the table are more pieces of coloured paper, a truly impressive array of glitter, some slips of paper that look like name tags, and a bag full of small vases in various colours, as well as glue and more scissors than is probably necessary for their group of four people.

“So what is it,” Phichit asks flatly.

“We’re making butterflies!” Prija exclaims, acting as if it should be obvious. (Which it should.)

“These are the—not the party favours, but you know, what the guests get to take home with them,” Alba explains. She rummages through a bag at her feet and pulls out a finished vase.

The vase is a light, transparent pink, and inside are four paper flowers, each with a name tag dangling off the stem. Each flower also has a paper butterfly perched on it—each butterfly is different, made of varying combinations of paper and glitter, but they’re all symmetrical and don’t actually look half bad. They’ve got a kind of cute, lighthearted vibe to them, which Phichit can get behind.

“Yeah, so every guest gets a flower and a butterfly and they get to take it with them! We’ve been sorting the vases up into tables… anyways, you two don’t have to worry about the name tags or anything, and we’ve got most of the flowers made already—” Prija points to another bag, sitting on an empty chair. “—so really, we’re just playing catch-up with the butterflies right now.”

“Seems doable,” Chris says. “Do you have any guidelines?”

“They have to be symmetrical. ‘Cause. You know, butterflies,” Alba says. “But other than that, follow your heart.”

“The gayer the better!” Prija adds. “But keep it PG. Anyways, we’ve got the most black paper for some reason, so we figured we’d use that for the butterfly bases—here’s the template, by the way—and then we’ve got all the other coloured papers here, and you can use glue to stick them on and then the glitter glue for decoration. We’ve still got to make… a hundred more?”

“Forty, Prija.”

“Forty more, so get to work! When you’re done, just pass them to me or Alba, we’ll stick them on the flowers and get the names all sorted out. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Phichit says. Chris nods and pulls out a seat, gesturing for Phichit to sit down before clearing off the other chair and taking a seat himself. He reaches for the butterfly template and some paper while Phichit sets about cutting a hot pink scrap of paper into small strips.

Alba puts on some catchy music, and they work in comfortable quasi-silence for several minutes, until Prija makes a show of checking her phone.

“Oh, my, will you look at the time,” she says, grinning broadly at Alba. “I think it’s almost time for yoga. Phichit, Chris, you’ll be fine to take care of this on your own for a bit, right?”

Phichit and Chris exchange a knowing glance.

“I’m sure we’ll survive,” Chris says.

“Excellent,” Prija says, hugging them both quickly before grabbing Alba’s hand and dragging her away, Alba just managing to wave her goodbyes before disappearing through the door.

“Well, this is a bit different than the last time we were left in charge of decorations, huh?” Phichit says, smiling at Chris, who’s concentrating hard on sticking a cutout blue dot onto a butterfly’s wings.

“Ha, just a little,” Chris replies happily, his tongue sticking out just slightly between his teeth as he focuses. It reminds Phichit of Duchess and the way she also sticks her tongue out from time to time. “Don’t you dare stick glitter in my hair, though.”

Phichit smiles winsomely, batting his eyelashes. “Me? Stick glitter in your hair? When have I ever…”

 

**NOVEMBER 16TH, BARCELONA, SPAIN, T -4748.185817 HOURS (6 months, 15 days)**

Glittery rainbow dicks sounded like a great idea until Duchess got into the glitter.

“Oh, honey,” Chris sighs, resigning himself to the fact that he’s about to get a really good sweater _completely covered_ in hellish sparkle dust. He picks her up and she meows at him, as if to protest being taken away from the fun. “Listen, I have a lot to do, and I love you, but you’re going in the bathroom until we finish the decorations—”

“Or you could give her to me!” The door shuts with a click, and Chris turns to see Phichit grinning and holding his arms out. Duchess doesn’t even try to hide her attempt to flee for Phichit’s arms, and Chris would be offended if he didn’t completely understand the urge.

“Traitor,” he accuses, putting his hands on his hips as Phichit laughs. Duchess _purrs_. “Can I get you anything, _caro_? Coffee? Wine? We’ve got a lot to do.”

“I’m good, thanks—oh my god, are those dildos?” Phichit asks, completely distracted. In fairness, it is a lot of plastic dicks. Chris spent the better part of the morning hunting for a shop that had that sort of goofy novelty item, and came back determined to make them snazzier. “Are they even going to let us put those up?”

“I called the venue, and yes,” Chris replies, grinning. “So you can help me make them rainbow, or you can start thinking about—I don’t know, garlands or something? I bought some things. I’m not really sure what one brings to put up at a bachelor party, honestly.”

“Well, I saw a lot of bachelorette parties back in Detroit, and it was all boob hats and cheesy penis necklaces, so I think we’re on the right track.” Phichit’s still holding Duchess, so Chris pulls him up a chair at the table where he’s set up. Right now he’s got glue and a few pots of glitter in different colours, although the blue has been somewhat depleted by Duchess.

Phichit does more brainstorming than actual helping at first, busy petting Duchess as he chatters away about various decoration ideas and activities they could add to the somewhat sloppy schedule they’ve thrown together over Google docs. It’s much nicer to plan in person, Chris thinks, as Phichit laughs endearingly at one of his own jokes.

“Alright, come on, Chulanont, you’ve spoiled my cat enough and we’ve got dicks to decorate,” Chris whines, eventually. Phichit pouts, still cuddling Duchess.

“But I love her,” Phichit says, and Chris makes a show of huffing and crossing his arms.

“I think you just know you won’t be able to keep up,” Chris challenges, with a hint of slyness. “I’m very good at handling these, you know.” He winks, and Phichit narrows his eyes at him. It sends a shiver up Chris’ spine, seeing those sharp, pretty eyes fixed on him.

“You’re on,” Phichit says, in the voice he uses exclusively for trash talking. Chris knows it, now,  from little exchanges at competitions. “And you know what, Chris? If you’re so good at handling dicks, why are you the only one talking about it?”

“ _Oh,_ ” Chris says, delighted. “You’re _vicious._ ”

They definitely—and somewhat ridiculously—end up actually competing to see who can finish more decorations, and after a few minutes they get into a heated squabble over whether or not Chris should be able to count the ones he did before Phichit arrived, and then over how many Phichit suspects belong in that category. Chris finds himself laughing breathlessly as Phichit gets riled up, because it’s simply too endearing.

“Just because you were too busy trying to kidnap Duchess—”

“You can’t just _make up rules_ halfway into the competition, Chris! It’s not fair—hey, I was using that!” Phichit leans over, grabbing at Chris’ arms as Chris holds the red glitter above his head. “Oooh, you _tall asshole_ —”

“Mmm,” Chris says, grinning. “Sorry, I can’t hear you down there, Chulanont.” This earns him an eyeroll, and Phichit glares up at him. It’s only then that Chris realizes how close they are, because Phichit’s eyes widen, and he steps back slightly. There’s a bit of a moment, like they’re not sure what to say, but then Chris just can’t seem to let the competitive spirit die. “I’ll give you the glitter if you admit I should be able to count the first thirty dicks.”

“No way! Screw you, _Giacometti_.” Phichit actually sticks his tongue out, and Chris flicks red glitter at him. “Hey!”

“I thought you wanted the glitter?” Chris asks, innocently, and flicks him again.

Phichit’s eyes narrow.

***

“And then he dumped the glitter in my hair,” Chris says, flatly, as Victor sobs with laughter into Yuuri’s shoulder. Chris’ hair is now sparkling with all the colours of the rainbow, and Phichit’s just looks kind of cool, because he’s got dark hair and everything looks good on him.

“You were being a dick,” Phichit says, shrugging. He’s grinning, though, and it’s impossible to stay mad at a smiling Phichit Chulanont.

“Why do we need these, by the way?” Yuuri asks, holding up a necklace with a rather unwieldy amount of sparkly plastic dicks. Victor’s already wearing one, having declared them _wow!!! amazing!!!!_ as soon as he set eyes on them.

“It’s a _bachelor party,_ ” Chris and Phichit say, in exasperated unison.

 

**JUNE 5TH, RESORT LOBBY, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -109.363800 HOURS (5 days)**

“Is my hair okay?” Chris asks, bending down a little so Phichit can reach it. It’s a little mussed, from Anada getting a little overexcited and hugging the both of them during dinner, and Phichit runs his fingers briefly though it, though Chris’ hair never really looks _bad_ , even when it’s messy. Especially now that it’s getting a little curly on top. Phichit’s not sure what Chris does during competitions, but whatever it is, he hasn’t been doing it on vacation, and it’s nice.

“Now it’s fine. Why do you ask, anyway?  Are you doing anything right now?” He almost goes on to say that he’d assumed they were just going to hang out and read after dinner, but now that he thinks about it, he realizes that’s kind of weird. Besides, he’s not actually tired yet.

“I was going to go for a walk on the beach,” Chris explains, as they start heading up to their room. They’ve made an unspoken habit of taking the stairs, probably just because it makes their flagrant disobedience regarding diet plans seem a little less concerning, somehow. “It’s supposed to be a warm night, and I could use some fresh air after being cooped up with those butterflies all day.”

“That sounds like a great idea, actually,” Phichit says, thinking of sand under his bare feet and the sun going down over the water. “Want some company? If you’d rather not, though, I get it, we don’t have to do everything together—”

“No, come,” Chris says, smiling. It makes his eyes twinkle, and Phichit feels himself go a little breathless in a way that has nothing to do with the stairs.

“Okay,” Phichit says.

They get ready quickly, changing into more beachy clothes—Phichit’s got a soft grey tee and some bright purple shorts, a pair he wore to an ice show once, and Chris just pulls on a dark tank top and a pair of jeans.

Outside, the sky is already pink and orange, the sun hanging low on the water. There’s a few other people out and about, but none of Phichit’s family; Alba and Prija had mentioned something about answering e-mails, and the parents had been on their second bottle of wine after dinner. Emilio and the twins are probably upstairs on their laptops.

“It’s nice to just be us for a bit,” Phichit mentions, as they walk out to where the waves end. The water’s cool and refreshing.

Chris shrugs. “I guess you must be more used to having everyone around?”

“Yeah, it’s not that I—like, I love them, and I’m really happy that I get to see them so much right now, but also… like, I have a whole life outside of this. I feel like I change when I come home, because I want to,” Phichit pauses, searching for the right words. “Well, I don’t want to worry them, I guess? I want them to feel like I’m doing well.”

“I think you’d be hard-pressed to convince them otherwise,” Chris points out, with a little smile. “You’re one of the top six skaters in the world, Phichit. You’ve got a degree. And you’re surrounded by people who absolutely adore you, including them.”

“And they want the best for me,” Phichit finishes, slightly reassured. “I mean, yeah. But don’t you ever feel like—like family always wants more for you?”

Chris thinks about it, and nods. “Yes, sort of. My parents think I should retire.” Phichit looks at him quickly, searching his face, and Chris looks out at the horizon. “They’re worried about my knee, and after the break-up with Marcel, they’re also worried that I’ll find myself suddenly alone, when I stop skating—”

“You won’t be alone,” Phichit says, immediately, and takes Chris’ hand. There’s no one to see, but it feels right, and Chris glances at their joined hands with wide eyes before smiling softly. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, and I’m biased anyway because I could watch you skate forever—” Chris grins. “—But you’re far from alone. You’ve got me, and Yuuri and Victor, and,” Phichit pauses again. “Actually, have you talked to Victor about any of this? He’d know, right?”

Chris looks uneasy, all of a sudden. “I haven’t.” He looks away again, but his fingers tighten.

They’re well past the bars and other tourists now, and everything is calm and quiet. It’s starting to get darker out, but the breeze is warm, and it’s so beautiful here that Phichit has an easy time waiting for Chris to find his words. They walk in silence for a while.

“Victor’s just… I know he’d be happy to talk to me, but everything is always so _different_ for him,” Chris explains, finally. “He could always get away with anything, when we were younger. And there’s no shortage of opportunities or admirers for a living legend. I suppose I just wonder if it would be… different, for me, when I retire. And I don’t _want_ to follow in Victor’s footsteps for the rest of my life, but I don’t want him to feel like I don’t value his advice.”

“I think you’re not giving him enough credit,” Phichit suggests, after a moment. “He knows you. I think if he gave you advice, he might be better at taking all that into account. He’s had a lot of practice with Yuuri, now, you know?” Chris hums a little, and Phichit continues. “Anyway, not that you _have_ to talk to him. I just think… you’ve seemed a lot more relaxed here than I’ve seen you in a while, except when something makes you remember that you’ve got all that thinking to do, and you don’t have to face that alone.”

Chris stops walking, abruptly, and for a second Phichit wonders if maybe he’s overstepped until Chris hugs him. When Chris lets go, he’s smiling.

“You’re a very reassuring person, Phichit Chulanont,” Chris says. “Thank you for listening.”

“Anytime, Christophe Giacometti,” Phichit says, playfully, because he’s a little embarrassed. “Hey, do you want to sit and watch the water for a bit?”

They do, and the conversation turns to other things. Phichit talks and digs a hole in the sand, just for something to do with his fingers, and Chris lays down next to him and listens.

“I think sometime I’d like to take a few months off and just do a bunch of stuff that’s on my bucket list,” Phichit says, absently. Chris perks up.

“That’s not a bad idea. I should make one.” Chris rolls onto his side and starts tracing patterns in the sand, eyes lit up with ideas, and Phichit grins.

“I’m surprised you don’t already have one.”

“Never really needed one, just did things,” Chris explains. The patterns turn into letters: BUCKET LIST, underlined. He adds a bullet point.

“Visit Phichit Chulanont in Thailand,” Phichit suggests, cheekily. Chris writes it, amused, and adds _the fabulous_ before Phichit’s name. Then he lengthens the list with a few other travel destinations before stopping.

“Hmm. What’s on your bucket list, Phichit?”

“Win gold at Worlds,” Phichit says. “Beat Yuuri at Mario Kart three times in a row. Reach a million followers on Twitter.” He thinks some more, trying to remember some of the more mundane stuff from the rest of the list. “Skinny-dipping?”

“You’ve never skinny-dipped?” Chris asks, raising his eyebrows. Phichit rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised that you have.” Chris laughs, and Phichit grins at him. “I’ve just never really had the chance.”

There’s a beat of silence. Chris looks at the water, then back at Phichit. Phichit considers this. It’s probably a bad idea. It’s _definitely_ a bad idea.

But that’s sort of the point of bucket lists, sometimes.

“Hey, Chris,” Phichit says, lightly. As if talking about the weather. “Want to help me cross something off my bucket list?”

“Why, _Liebchen,_ I thought you’d never ask.”

Phichit hopes it’s dark enough, now, that Chris can’t see his cheeks redden as they strip. He tries to focus on putting his clothes in a neat pile, but he catches a glimpse of broad, muscled shoulders and a tanned back before he can stop himself. Chris doesn’t seem shy at all, and heads for the water as soon as he’s tossed all his clothes to the side.

The water is less refreshing when you’re buck naked, as it turns out. Phichit squeals, and Chris laughs at him from where he’s waded ahead, clearly more used to the cold. He’s not too deep yet, though—and Phichit’s just going to give himself a free pass for checking out the obvious, because _honestly,_ it’s not like the sight of Christophe Giacometti’s ass is something anyone would pass up, given the chance. (He may or may not have drunkenly amended his bucket list with that once, actually. That’s two things he can cross off today.)

“Why did I think this was going to be fun?” Phichit wails, once he’s up to his waist. Chris turns around, grinning, and Phichit barely catches Chris’ eyes flitting over Phichit’s bare torso.

“Isn’t it? Once you get past the cold?”

“Not there yet,” Phichit grumbles. “ _Europeans_ , I swear.”

Chris gives him a mocking smile, pretending to hum in sympathy. “Poor sweetheart,” he says, and then Phichit gets splashed.

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Phichit cries, flinching. “You are the _worst_ and I’m going to _get you_ —”

Their splash fight is stupid and ridiculous, but by the end of it Phichit realizes he’s entirely forgotten about the cold, and he may or may not have caught a peek of—well, a lot of things, honestly.

“You’re a menace,” he says, with a half-hearted splash. Chris ignores this, grinning, and starts floating on his back. Phichit splutters and looks away.

“I try.”

After a few seconds, Phichit decides to try it. It’s actually pretty nice. He stays like that for a while, only standing back up when the cold comes back. Chris is still a little further out, treading water.

“I’m heading back,” Phichit calls, and makes a break for his clothes. He tries not to think about how Chris must’ve looked over at the sound, and that the water’s only at the back of his thighs by now. He looks over his shoulder, too curious to help himself.

Chris, who is wading out after him, smiles. Phichit’s never met anyone more conscious of how good he looks; now, still wet and messy-haired and cut like a statue of some classic hero, Chris moves like he knows Phichit’s watching him.

Phichit turns back around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash, and doesn’t bother trying to shake and dry himself off before pulling on his clothes. _Pull yourself together,_ he tells himself, even as he sneaks a look at Chris dressing himself from the corner of his eye. _He’s doing you a favour and here you are ogling like a weirdo._ Then again, it’s Chris. Maybe he’s into it.

“Well, Phichit,” Chris says, so cheerfully and loudly that Phichit is startled out of his thoughts. “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of this experience. I’m all for nudity in general, but taking someone skinny-dipping for the first time is _special._ ”

Phichit decides that if Chris is going to be silly, he might as well join in. “No, Chris,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes, “thank _you_. For sharing my first time.”

Chris laughs, and they keep teasing each other on the way back to the hotel room. It’s only when they break apart in the doorway to get ready for bed that Phichit realizes they were holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [click here](https://smol-merci.tumblr.com/post/160643016642/piyo-13-piyo-13-smol-merci-piyo-13-is) for a (canon!) picture of the chulanont family, complete with us yelling, which eventually became a 40-page google doc of headcanons for all of them
> 
> tumblr us on [@smol-merci](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) and [@piyo-13](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com)


	5. JUNE 6TH, T -95.112944 HOURS - JUNE 6TH, T -84.287919 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _phichit: what pictures_   
>  _phichit: PRIJA, WHAT PICTURES_   
>  _prija: have i told you lately you were so cute as a kid? what happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*skip to the endnotes for a spoilery warning tag*)
> 
>  
> 
> ;)

**JUNE 6TH, THE HOTEL, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -95.112944 HOURS (4 days)**

Phichit decides to go for a run after breakfast, and since Chris is busy listening to Emilio’s enthusiastic rant about folk music, he makes the executive decision to do it alone for once. Besides, it’s about time to clear his head.

About an hour and a half later, he’s showered and dressed and ready to face the family again. Phichit runs into Alba in the lobby, reading one of the activity schedules.

“Hey, where is everyone? I think this is the first time I’ve seen you alone all week,” Phichit says, looking around for Prija.

“Oh, they’re up on the terrace near your parent’s room. Last I heard, your parents and Prija dragged Chris off to show him some things,” Alba replies, a little too casually. “They should be there for a while, they were planning to all eat lunch together inside since it’s supposed to rain.”

Phichit grabs his phone so fast he almost drops it.

 _phichit: WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH CHRIS_  
_prija: lol he’s fine we’re just showing him pictures and talking_  
_phichit: what pictures_  
_phichit: PRIJA, WHAT PICTURES_  
_prija: have i told you lately you were so cute as a kid? what happened?_

“Excuse me,” Phichit says, “I have to go. See you, Alba!”

By the time he gets to the terrace, the damage has clearly been done. He can already see everyone leaning in over a photo album, laughing and talking, and Chris has that look on his face like he’s up to no good—

“Phichit! You were so cute!” Chris calls, loudly, as he spots Phichit coming over. Prija, who’s sitting next to him, snorts.

“ _Emphasis on_ were,” she adds, but she pulls out a chair for Phichit anyway, who takes it with a groan.

“ _Please tell me you’re not showing him all my dumb baby pictures,_ ” Phichit says, pleadingly, to his parents. They don’t even have the decency to feign sympathy.

 _“This is the first chance we’ve ever had to embarrass you in front of a boyfriend_ ,” Phichit’s dad says, with a cheeky grin. “ _You can’t honestly expect us to pass it up!_ ”

Sighing, Phichit scoots closer to Chris. Figuring he might as well know what the damage is, he leans over. Chris looks up at him, smiling, and for a second Phichit’s struck by the genuine happiness in his eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Chris says, very convincingly. He leans in to kiss Phichit’s cheek, and Phichit can feel his face heat up.

“Hi.” Phichit takes Chris’ hand, and it’s only when Prija makes a little coughing noise that he realizes they’ve been staring at each other this whole time. Pointedly, he looks down at the photo albums, struggling not to make an embarrassed face. It’s so unnecessary, having Chris go through all his silly baby pictures.

“This is when you started skating?” Chris asks, pointing to one of the photos. Phichit squints at it. The picture isn’t too bad—it’s his dad, mostly cropped out of the picture, holding a tiny Phichit up while he kicks out a leg. Certainly not the worst thing they could have shown Chris.

“Yeah, I think that was—the first or second time?”

“The first,” Phichit’s dad says. He leans closer. “We put him in lessons immediately after that, he looked so at ease.”

“How adorable,” Chris says. “Phichit, why haven’t you put these online?”

“Because I’m way cooler now.” Really it’s because he knows his siblings well enough to know that if he puts any up, the embarrassing and highly unflattering food-face baby pictures will follow.

“Debatable,” Prija says. Phichit narrows his eyes at her.

“I think you’ll like the one on the next page,” Phichit’s mom says, and Phichit barely has time to think about what _that_ could mean before Chris has flipped the page.

 _“Mom!”_ Phichit says, anguished, when he realizes what it is.

“Oh my God,” Chris whispers, reverently.

“You’re welcome,” Prija says, happily.

Phichit groans, hiding his face behind his hands to cover up the way his cheeks are _burning_ right now. The photo—and honestly, why do they even _have_ that photo—is Phichit in his first competition.

He’d decided to wear a hamster hat.

“Phichit, you were _so cute?”_

“I’m going to destroy all of you,” Phichit grumbles, ignoring Chris’ laughter. “I can’t believe you guys. Aren’t we all supposed to be embarrassing Prija? She’s the one getting _married_ , there should be a slideshow or something—”

“That’s why we had the photo album open,” Phichit’s mom explains. “But then we found this, and we got sidetracked.” She gestures at another photo, removed from the album and placed between Chris and Prija on the table. It’s of Phichit and Prija, back when they were really small. Prija’s got her arm around Phichit and is grinning up at the camera, holding up a VHS case of _The King and the Skater_.

 _Phichit’s first movie,_ the caption reads, in the white border at the bottom of the photo. Despite himself, Phichit smiles. “Okay, fine. I like that one.”

“I do think a little destruction could be fun, though,” Prija says, with a suspiciously angelic smile. “We should wait until it rains tonight, but we could maybe dig out some card games? Round up the others?”

Everyone likes this suggestion, and the conversation quickly turns to their plans for the next few hours. _Anything but couple’s yoga,_ Phichit thinks, desperately, when Chris mentions that he has an idea.

“Rock climbing?” Chris says, eagerly, and Phichit relaxes slightly. That doesn’t sound so bad, as long as it’s not too high. “I saw a wall out on the beach the other day.”

“Sure,” Phichit says, leading Chris inside to get changed. Well, maybe _leads_ isn’t the right word, because Chris has a gentle hand at the small of his back, and it’s just enough pressure to be reassuringly steady. As they pass the doorway, Chris ducks down a little to whisper in Phichit’s ear.

“Should I be worried about later? Are you all equally competitive?” Chris asks, teasingly. Phichit shoots him an amused look.

“Be very worried, Giacometti,” Phichit replies. “ _Very._ ”

 

**JUNE 6TH, OUTSIDE THE HOTEL, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -93.112944 HOURS (4 days)**

_Not so bad,_ Phichit thinks, bitterly. _I’m a fucking moron._

Chris’ idea of getting changed, apparently, was just tossing off his shirt and grabbing a pair of the clingiest shorts Phichit’s ever seen in his goddamn life, and Phichit has seen all of Chris’ skating programs.

Of course, now that they’re outside in the sun, Chris’ tanned skin—so even that Phichit wonders exactly how many times Chris has been skinny dipping lately—is practically glowing, on top of his toned muscles, ever so slightly shiny with sweat and—yeah. Fucking moron, that’s what Phichit is.

The wall, luckily, is pretty empty—there’s three hotel staff members running it, and five or six ropes dangling from a height that seems, to Phichit, _a lot._ Only one other set of two people is climbing, at the moment. Chris chats with the person at the desk for a bit while Phichit stares up at what is probably going to be his certain death and tries not to chicken out, until Chris nudges him.

“You ready?”

“Nope!” Phichit says cheerily. “Have I ever mentioned that I’m afraid of heights?”

“I find it hard to believe that you’re afraid of anything, love,” Chris jokes, but he eyes the wall with just a little bit of concern. “...Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do something else? Yoga—”

“This is fine,” Phichit says. It’s not fine, but it’s more fine than yoga.

“Hm,” Chris says dubiously. “Well, if you’re sure… On the bright side, if you manage to scale this wall, you can come visit me in the Alps!”

Phichit thinks he might be dizzy, with how fast the blood leaves his face. He shakes his head. “Let’s just… go. You first.”

“Sure,” Chris says, bouncing a little on the sand as he walks up to one of the people by the wall, Phichit following a few steps behind. “Give me a colour, darling,” Chris says to Phichit, looking up at the wall pensively as the staff member—Lou, according to his nametag—hands Chris a harness.

Phichit observes the wall for a moment. There are several differently coloured handholds, and Phichit supposes they’re all different paths to the top, though which one would be harder or easier, he doesn’t have a clue. Nor, for that matter, does he know how good Chris is in the first place, but given that Chris is confidently strapping himself into a harness that Phichit would have no idea where to even begin with, he’s probably at least decent.

“Um… pink?”

Chris eyes the wall, miming a climbing motion with his hands, as if he’s already mapping out his route. “I like it!”

“You know how to climb?” Lou asks Chris, handing him a tailing length of rope with a knot in it. Chris loops it easily through the front straps of his harness, almost doing something else with the knot before remembering to give it back to Lou.

“A bit, mostly just a hobby whenever I had time,” Chris replies, as Lou finishes off the knot. Phichit glances up at the wall again. The rope seems pretty thin, considering the height of the wall.

“Wonderful. Just a quick reminder of the rules for both of you—don’t go sideways on the wall, if you need a rest just let me know, and have fun! You can climb whenever you’re ready.”

“Actually… Do you guys have chalk?”

“Oh!” Lou says. “Of course.” He unbuckles a small pouch from around his waist, and hands it to Chris, who buckles it over his harness before dipping his hands into the pouch. They emerge covered in white, powdery chalk, and Chris bops Phichit on the nose before rubbing his hands together.

“Chris!” Phichit says, rubbing at his nose and sneezing.

“Wish me luck,” Chris says with a wink, and approaches the wall.

What Phichit watches next is something that could have come straight out of a fantasy—Chris’ back muscles on full display as he pulls himself up the wall, his shoulders glistening in the sun, and, when he gets high enough, a first-class view of Chris’ butt, framed by the climbing harness. Phichit doesn’t quite understand how Chris moves so fluidly up the wall, but within what can’t be more than a minute, Chris signals to Lou to let him down, because he’s reached the top.

Chris comes down looking for all the world like a secret agent, sitting back and fully relaxed in his harness. It’s only once his feet hit the ground and he starts undoing the knot that Phichit realizes this means it’s _his_ turn now.

“Here,” Chris says, motioning for Phichit to come closer. Phichit steps forward, trying not to freak out, and Chris slowly gets him into the harness. He makes sure to explain everything, which Phichit would appreciate if he wasn’t busy imagining the various ways he could fall to his death. Of course, even that’s not enough to completely distract him from the fact the that harness ties off in _front,_ which...well, Chris makes quick work of the harness, but Phichit’s face is still just a little flushed.

“Um, which colour is good for beginners?” he asks, as Lou helps him with the rope.

“Green’s the easiest,” Lou says, with a sympathetic smile. He passes Phichit the chalk pouch, and Phichit chalks up his hands as Chris struggles not to look too excited.

“You’ll be fine, _caro,_ ” Chris says, grinning. “And, well, if not, I’m sure it’ll be a good story.” For that, Phichit shoots him a glare and walks over. He smears chalk over Chris’ cheek as Chris laughs, and Chris looks so good with his messy hair and his delighted smile that it almost _hurts._ Phichit is determined to ignore it by facing that wall, even if the prospect alone is terrifying.

There’s already a light dusting of chalk on the lowest green handholds, and Phichit tentatively grabs on. The holds are slightly cupped, giving his hands a good grip, which—good, if nothing else his sheer terror will spark him into holding on tighter should he slip. Or something. He puts his feet on two lower holds, and pushes up. Instantly, the rope pulls taut again, which comforts Phichit enough to take the next step.

“There you go!” Chris exclaims. “You’ve got it!”

Phichit looks over his shoulder at Chris. He’s probably climbed no more than half a meter by this point, but that still puts him taller than Chris, for once. It’s weird, and oddly endearing. Chris hasn’t wiped the smear of chalk away yet. Phichit smiles at Chris, then refocuses on the wall. He finds the next handhold, and moves, and honestly? Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought.

He almost falls off the wall when Chris wolf-whistles loudly, though.

“Looking good up there, Chulanont!” Chris calls, and Phichit, in an effort to stick his tongue out at Chris, makes the fatal mistake of looking down.

He’s, ah. He’s definitely up the wall, now. Nervously, he looks back at Chris, who takes one look at his face and approaches. “Phichit? You’re okay, hon. Do you want to come down?”

Phichit nods. Chris smiles up at him.

“Just lean back, _Schatzi._ Sit in the harness. Like you’re in a spy movie.” After a deep breath, Phichit obeys. “Excellent. I just need you to let go of the wall now, darling.”

Phichit’s laughter is definitely not hysterical. “Um,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Lou says, and Phichit feels the tension in the rope pull up on his harness just a bit. Still, he clings to the wall; his fingers aren’t particularly being cooperative in the whole letting-go department.

“Put your feet flat against the wall and then let go, _carissimo._ You can do it.”

“I’m scared,” Phichit says. He’s not sure if Chris can hear him from this height, but Chris seems to understand his expression, at any rate. He holds out his arms.

“Lou’s got you on belay, and if the rope could hold my weight, I think it can definitely hold yours, no? And I’ll be here to catch you, promise.”

Phichit takes another deep breath.

“It’s like jumping a quad,” Chris says. “You trust your skates, right? Trust that the rope and I will catch you, okay?”

“Okay,” Phichit says, and screws his eyes shut before letting go. To his surprise, he doesn’t fall barely at all—his feet are still planted against the wall, and he’s just… dangling there, now.

“Good job!” Chris says, immediately echoed by Lou.

“Okay, I’m letting you down now,” Lou says, and Phichit immediately starts to sink slowly downwards. He puts his hands on the rope just for something to do, and ends up walking himself downwards, eyes fixed to the wall in front of him instead of the ground below.

He vaguely registers one of the funnier-shaped holds as being one that was near the beginning when suddenly, he’s no longer sitting in empty air, but in Chris’ arms.

“Proud of you,” Chris says, before pressing a quick kiss to Phichit’s forehead. “You were very brave.”

“I didn’t even get all the way up,” Phichit protests, with an annoyed glance back at the wall. Chris grins, like he was expecting something like that.

“We could always try again later?”

“Maybe if I have… I was going to say alcohol, but that’s definitely a bad idea. Powerful incentive?” Phichit says, as they undo the harness.

“Hmm,” Chris says, eyes narrowing playfully. “What sort of _powerful incentive?_ ”

“Clearly not whatever you’re thinking of in that weird head of yours,” Phichit says, trying not to seem flustered. He’s still too emotionally compromised from rock climbing to come up with anything clever, and Chris laughs.

“Oh, really? _I’m_ the one with the weird head? Who was it who begged me to take off all my clothes just yesterday—”

“For _skinny-dipping_ —”

“An irrelevant detail,” Chris says, dismissively. “Face it. I end up naked around you very often, Phichit Chulanont—”

“You end up naked near _everyone_ ,” Phichit objects, but he’s laughing, so it’s not as forceful as it could be. They grin at each other, for a moment, and then Phichit reaches up to brush away the chalk from Chris’ cheek. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

“Anytime,” Chris replies.

Lou, who has by now collected all their gear, clears his throat softly. “Sorry if I’m overstepping,” he says, tentatively, “but I just wanted to say that you guys are really sweet together.”

Chris looks at Phichit, who’s honestly too surprised to react beyond blinking, and then smiles at Lou. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you,” he says, easily, and Lou smiles and says goodbye before walking off to help another couple.

There’s a short pause. Phichit might be imagining that it’s tense.

“Well,” Chris says, casually. “We must be doing something right. Apparently we’re convincing.”

“Yeah,” Phichit says. “Yeah.”

 

**JUNE 6TH, HOTEL LOUNGE, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -84.287919 HOURS (4 days)**

_“Uno!”_ Anada shouts, waving his single card above his head.

“Oh no you don’t,” Prija shoots back, quickly flashing a reverse-order card and forcing Anada into picking up another card.

“Jerk,” he mumbles. Emilio drops a card, but Chaisai, sitting next to him, is smiling slightly. Phichit narrows his eyes, because that’s always a dangerous expression.

“Chaisai, if you give me a—”

Chaisai’s grin widens as he lays down a ‘+4’ card.

“Oooooh!” Anada, Emilio, and Chris all say in unison. Across the table, Phichit’s parents are chatting casually with the Pellicer parents, seemingly uncaring that each of them have at least eight or nine cards apiece.

“Poor sweetheart,” Chris adds, leaning in a little with a mocking grin that Phichit just glares at. They stare each other down for a bit, but Phichit struggles not to smile back. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“You can be quiet, so I can concentrate on your imminent defeat,” Phichit says, coolly. Chris laughs and leans back in his chair again.

“Come on, Phichit, don’t hold up the game,” Alba says. She’s got two cards and a wickedly focused smile, and in the back of his mind, Phichit thinks he’d rather never be on the opposite side of her in a court case. Prija looks at her with heart-shaped eyes.

“You are officially my _least_ favorite sibling,” Phichit grumbles, leaning forward to take his four cards from the deck, increasing his total to six.

“Don’t take it out on her, Phichit,” Chris says lightly, nudging him in the ribs with a well-placed elbow. “You know you were never going to beat me.” Chris has a single card, and has had one on and off for a while now. Phichit shoots him a dirty look.

“Oh, really?” he says, and Chris’ smile grows.

“Hit me with the best you’ve got,” Chris replies. Phichit purses his lips as he makes a show of examining his cards, though he’s already decided. After a few seconds of suspense, he pulls the turn skip card, laying it down gingerly on top of the discard pile. Chris laughs.

“Well-played, _cheri,_ ” he says, then turns to Phichit’s mother, who’s still not paying attention. “Mali, I do believe it’s your turn.”

To Phichit’s embarrassment, his mother smiles her brightest smile at Chris. “Always so polite! Well, let’s see…” she takes a few moments to consider, before placing a green number over Phichit’s card. The parents all have a pretty tame style of play, and Alba, who’s sitting next to her father, takes full advantage of that to lose another card.

“Uno!”

“Ugh!” Prija says. “Papá, you can’t let her get away with this!”

Alba’s father chuckles. “My sincerest apologies…” Alba lovingly leans over and presses a kiss to Prija’s temple while Prija mutters something about favoritism, though she’s smiling, so she’s probably not serious. She ends up laying down a plus two for Anada, who groans and skips Emilio’s turn. Chaisai, for once, just sets down a number—unfortunately, a blue six, neither of which Phichit and his six cards have a match for. Grumbling, he draws another card. It’s a plus four, and Phichit smiles before he can help himself.

“Oh no,” Chris says, jokingly. “I know that face— _Phichit_ ,” he says as Phichit lays down the card. Phichit just smiles and bats his eyelashes as Chris rolls his eyes and reaches for the new cards.

“You know, you guys,” Prija says. Phichit tears his eyes away from the brilliant green of Chris’, just in time to catch the sly smirk on Prija’s face. “You don’t have to hold back on our account,” she continues, very casually. As if she were talking about the weather, which is a dangerous tone for Prija. “We’re all at a gay wedding to begin with, if you want to kiss, you should just go for it.”

Phichit opens his mouth to say something—a sputtering accusation, something about not liking PDA, _anything_ to, just, divert attention or something—but Prija interrupts him.

“I mean, I’m not blind! I see you two looking at each other all the time. Clearly you both want to, so just do it.”

Phichit glances sideways at Chris, who’s also looking at him. Chris shrugs, almost imperceptibly. “Well, love,” he says, and Phichit tries to ignore the funny flip his stomach does at that endearment. “She has a point.” He doesn’t move, though, just looks at Phichit with total confidence. Like he trusts Phichit to make the call, this time.

So Phichit leans in, tilting his head slightly, and somehow he’s still not prepared for when Chris’ lips are on his, just as soft and gentle as he remembers.

It’s in this moment that Phichit realizes he’s well and truly _fucked._

Phichit’s about to pull back when Anada wolf-whistles, and Phichit can _feel_ Chris smile, and then Chris’ fingers are twining through the hair at the base of Phichit’s head, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and—and oh _God,_ that’s definitely tongue.

Phichit doesn’t have enough self-control to not reply in kind.

The wolf-whistling dies off. “Okay, that’s enough now, I think. You _guys,_ ” Emilio says, at the same time as Anada makes a raspberry noise.

Chris finally pulls back, and Phichit only realizes after he’s done it that he’s leaned forward, chasing the kiss. Phichit’s heart is thundering in his ears as he and Chris continue to stare each other.

“Geez, you guys,” Chaisai finally says. “Chris, we’re waiting for you to play your card, you know.”

“Ah, right, of course,” Chris says, breaking eye contact with Phichit and making a show of examining his deck. Phichit watches him for a moment, wondering if he’s imagining the faint pink blush on Chris’ cheeks. (He isn’t.)

When Phichit looks away, he accidentally ends up making eye contact with Prija, and feels his own cheeks warm. Prija blinks at him, though, and for a moment, Phichit would swear she even looks… surprised?

 

**DECEMBER 1ST, HALLWAY TO THE SIDE OF THE MAIN ROOM, KATSUKI-NIKIFOROV WEDDING RECEPTION, HASETSU, JAPAN, T - 4451.573636 HOURS (6 months, 3 days)**

“Come on,” Phichit says, pulling Chris out of the main room with surprisingly focus considering the amount of alcohol they’ve consumed. “It’s too loud in here!”

Amused, Chris lets himself be led until Phichit stops abruptly in the middle of the hallway, grinning slyly.

“Here is good. Ugh, you’re so _tall_ —” Phichit’s hands are on Chris’ shoulders, now, and slide down to toy with the opened buttons at the top of his dress shirt. “I like this shirt. Very sexy.”

Chris looks down at him, raising an eyebrow, and they smile at each other. “Why thank you, gorgeous,” Chris says. Phichit’s eyes sparkle at the compliment. And then—he tilts his face up, just slightly, so slightly Chris almost thinks he’s imagining it. It’s enough for Chris to take a chance, though.

Phichit’s lips are warm and soft on his, and taste faintly of the strawberry lip gloss Chris had seen him applying before the wedding had begun. That it’s stayed on this long is a wonder, but then—so are most things about Phichit Chulanont, if Chris is being honest with himself.

He presses closer to Phichit, cupping one of Phichit’s cheeks in a hand as he deepens the kiss, his other hand tracing soft circles onto Phichit’s hip as Phichit wraps his arms around Chris’ neck and brings him closer.

The music of the reception—gone from ballroom to things more suited to a club, not that either of the grooms or really any of the guests are complaining—is fainter out here in the hallway, but the bass still thuds dully. Or maybe that’s just Chris’ heart.  

Then, suddenly, the music changes to something slow, and Phichit pulls away. He’s panting and his lips are shiny and his eyeliner is still perfect, his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt rumpled. Chris wants to take it off him. Phichit takes a deep breath just as Chris is about to lean down to continue the kiss.

“Wait, Chris,” he says, and Chris freezes. “We should stop.”

Ice melts down Chris’ spine and he instantly lets go of Phichit, stepping back into a more respectable distance.

“Of course,” he says. Internally, he curses himself—how could he have allowed himself to misread Phichit’s body language so thoroughly? He doesn’t know about Phichit, but Chris is definitely drunk right now—he can feel the buzz of alcohol and the fuzzy feeling clouding his mind—but that’s still no excuse. “I’m sorry for overstepping, I—”

Chris stops talking, because what can he say? _Hi, Phichit, I’m drunk and I thought you were flirting with me, but maybe I’m just imagining things because Marcel broke up with me two months ago and I’m lonely and rebounding?_

Phichit deserves so much better than to be a rebound.

“No, don’t apologize, I—” Phichit starts, half-reaching a hand out, but Chris shakes his head, taking another step back, out of Phichit’s range.

“No, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll see you in the morning. I think I’ve had too much to drink, I’m just… I'll sleep it off.” He gives Phichit a wan smile, and then all but hightails it back to the main party without waiting for Phichit to react. He finds Victor and Yuuri and bids them a quick goodnight and good _wedding_ night, before retreating to the room that he’s been assigned to for the duration of his stay in Hasetsu.

* * *  

The next morning—not altogether that many hours later, actually—Chris wakes up with a dry mouth and the general feeling of unease that’s just shy of a hangover. With it, also, come the memories of last night.

The dancing, the flirting, kissing Phichit, and—fuck. Kissing Phichit.

 _I can’t believe I let myself get that out of hand_ , he berates himself. Especially when Phichit clearly didn’t want to. Chris had thought… but then again, maybe Phichit was more like him, in that he took the chance to flirt whenever he got it. Not that Chris wasn’t always at least partially serious when he flirted, but…

Well, whatever. Chris will apologize, they’ll go back to their flirty friendship, and Chris will do his damndest to get over Phichit and not let his very obvious crush get too far in the way.

If Phichit’ll still have him as a friend, of course. Marcel hadn’t, but.

Chris sighs and rolls over, counting to ten before forcing himself to stand up and get washed and dressed. He heads down to the main dining hall, picking up as much trash as he can carry along the way—there’s several empty bottles lying around in various corners of the house, as well as napkins and party favors, and Chris sets them all into a neat pile in the corner before making his way to the table.

Several people are already awake, all sitting around the table—Victor and Yuuri, though the latter still looks more asleep than awake, as well as Seung-gil, Guang-hong, and—Phichit. There’s an empty seat next to Phichit, and as soon as Phichit spots Chris, he smiles and pats the seat next to him.

Chris feels a wave of relief wash over him; he hasn’t ruined everything. Feeling much lighter, Chris sits down and helps himself to a plate. The table is set—probably courtesy of Yuuri’s fantastic parents—with a traditional Japanese breakfast, and Chris helps himself to a bit of everything except the soup.

Phichit’s deep in conversation with Guang-hong, and Chris eats quietly, eventually realizing there’s also tea and pouring himself a cupful.

Then Guang-hong gets distracted, interjecting something into Victor and Seung-gil’s conversation, and Chris sees his opening. He nudges Phichit.

“Hey, so about last night—” Chris says softly.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Phichit says, and Chris would say that Phichit looks _sad_ , except that he’s not sure if he can accurately read Phichit anymore. “We’re fine. Let’s just have fun right now, okay?” And then Phichit turns back to Guang-hong, who’s now looking at them with an expression Chris definitely can’t decipher, and continues chattering animatedly about some sort of web series that Chris doesn’t follow. Chris watches for a moment.

“Okay,” he replies, just as softly.

At least they’ll still be friends, Chris muses as he eats a bite of omelette.

Chris can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*spoilery warning tag* some drunk kissing)
> 
>  
> 
> love y'all <3
> 
> [smolmerci](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) / [piyo13](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com)


	6. JUNE 7TH T -71.013328 HOURS - JUNE 7TH, T -64.765432 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’re SPOILED,_ Prija mouths, from her spot on the beach towel where Alba is feeding her strawberries covered in whipped cream. Phichit doesn’t deign to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so smolmerci works a lot and i (piyo) got suddenly run over by midterms and thesis bullshit so this is a bit... later than what we had going! unfortunately, we make no promises to speed up, because as you might be aware, nano is in something like two days, and we're both participating! so things might be a little quiet over here for the next month. we'll see. 
> 
> also!? we got fanart!? i'm pretty sure both smolmerci and i cried in public places when we realized this, thank u @dommi for this beauty <33 [click here to see and love it!!!](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com/post/166869841925/oh-god-phichit-says-with-quiet-despair-and)

**JUNE 7TH, ROOM 413, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -71.013328 HOURS (3 days)**

It’s been a whole night since their kiss, and they still haven’t talked about it. Granted, last night the card games ran so late that they were too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed, but—Phichit’s wondering if maybe Chris regrets it, like last time.

 _Maybe when he wakes up,_ Phichit thinks, _then we’ll talk about it._ After their first kiss at the wedding reception, he’d been too scared—obviously Chris was going to come over and say it was a rebound thing, and the idea of Chris _apologizing_ for leading him on was just… awful. Giving him an out had been a good call.

Now, though, Chris seems very much over Marcel. And he’d said he was fine with the kissing. _Maybe this is all me freaking out for nothing,_ Phichit thinks. He’s about to give up and go get breakfast instead when Chris stirs from behind him, exhaling loudly as he squeezes Phichit tighter around the middle with his arms.

“Mm, sorry, did I keep you waiting for me?” Chris asks, sleepily. It tickles the back of Phichit’s neck, and he tries not to squirm.

“Not very long. I was thinking about yesterday,” Phichit says, honestly, before rolling over to get a look at Chris’ face. He’s a little stubbly. If they kissed again, he’d probably feel it.

“Ah,” Chris says, after a few seconds of confused frowning. “Yes. Are we okay?” Phichit feels a little bad for springing this on him, suddenly, because he looks like he could’ve used a coffee first.

With a small smile, Phichit nods. “Yeah, we’re okay. Or at least, I’m okay.” Chris’ lips quirk up a bit, and Phichit full-out grins. “Even with the tongue, you scamp.”  
  
Chris laughs, and Phichit can feel the low rumble of it now that they’re so close. “It just seemed more realistic!” He could also have said—and might be thinking, from the glint of mischief in his eyes— _you seemed to like it at the time._ Phichit’s not sure what he would have said to that, because it’s true.

“Right,” Phichit says, “realism. Mhmm. Well, listen, if it’s just to be _convincing_ , then I _suppose_ you’re just helping me out, so I can’t really object to that, can I?” Chris raises his eyebrows, and Phichit shrugs a little, fixing him with a playful look. “They’re probably going to expect us to keep it up, so—”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Chris interrupts, shifting so that he’s propping himself on one elbow. It makes him a little higher up, able to look down at Phichit with just a hint of concern in way his eyebrows draw together. Phichit is almost annoyed that Chris is giving him time to think about what a wonderfully horrible idea it is, giving Christophe Giacometti free license to kiss him whenever he thinks it would look good.

Phichit blinks up at him and smiles, innocent as you please. “Yes. Stop worrying,” he says, and before he can think about it too hard he reaches up and puts a hand on Chris’ cheek. It is, in fact, scratchy, and he tries not to think about how much he likes that.

Chris’ eyes soften, and Phichit feels butterflies in the split second between that and Chris pulling him into a big hug—his arms tighten, and Phichit laughs and squirms, instinctively knowing that Chris is about to pull something. As it turns out, Chris gives him a big wet smack of a kiss on the cheek, meant to be ridiculous, and then rolls out of bed to claim the first shower as Phichit protests.

“Alright, no worrying, _Schatzi_ ,” Chris says, cheerfully. “Just fun today.”

“That’s the spirit,” Phichit says, tossing a pillow at Chris’ ass as he gets to the bathroom doorway. “Just fun!”

  
  
**JUNE 7TH, THE BEACH, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -70.215013 HOURS (3 days)**

It’s beautiful outside, so for once they’re all outside together.

“Sweetheart,” Chris asks, with a slightly overdone flutter of his eyelashes that makes Phichit grin, “could you help me?” He’s holding out a bottle of sunscreen, already stretched out on his towel with his back to Phichit—looking smugly over his shoulder like he knows Phichit would like nothing better than to get his hands on him.

Phichit almost tells him no, just to be petty, but Prija and Alba are setting up an umbrella just a few paces away, and he knows Prija must be keeping an eye on them. “Sure,” he says.

Chris stays perfectly still as Phichit starts rubbing the sunscreen over his back. Now, normally, if you asked Phichit Chulanont if there was anything attractive about _sunscreen_ , he’d reply with an emphatic _no_ , but Chris has very nice back muscles. And shoulder muscles. And, well, he’s never really _touched_ so much of Chris’ bare skin before—

There’s a noise from out in front of them, closer to the water, and Phichit catches Chaisai and Anada sharing a knowing look. “— _it again,_ ” he makes out, just barely, and blinks.

“That should be good,” Phichit says, finally, and Chris peeks back at him over his shoulder again.

“Are you sure you got it all in?” Chris asks, just innocently enough that Phichit knows he’s being ridiculous on purpose. “I hate how it looks when it’s not rubbed in enough—”  
  
Phichit rolls his eyes and pats Chris on the shoulder before moving to the side. “You’ll be fine, hot stuff,” he says, prompting a chuckle from Chris. “Now I need your help, okay?”

“Anything for you,” Chris says, with a wink, and Phichit has to laugh.

“We are going to take selfies,” Phichit says, “and we’re going to guard my cell phone _with our lives!"_ Chris laughs again, and Phichit leans over to prod him in the chest with one finger. “I’m serious, if it falls in the water I won’t be able to take any selfies for the whole rest of the trip, and—”

“Yes, yes, _Schatzi_ , I understand. Hold on to your phone!” Phichit finds himself suddenly in the air, or, more accurately, in Chris’ arms. Chris is heading for the water, grinning widely and paying no mind to Phichit’s cry of surprise. He wades out until it reaches halfway up his thighs and stops. “Here, I’m sure you can get something fun from up there.”  
  
They pose for a few different ones, and Phichit makes fun of Chris’ tendency to make pouty lips at the camera until Chris threatens to take poorly-lit candids of him from the hotel room before he wakes up tomorrow. Despite the fact that Phichit is perfectly capable of walking himself back to put his phone away, Chris carries him again, entirely too proud of himself and dripping with saltwater.

 _You’re SPOILED,_ Prija mouths, from her spot on the beach towel where Alba is feeding her strawberries covered in whipped cream. Phichit doesn’t deign to respond.

“Seriously, you can put me down now,” Phichit says, amused, as Chris reaches the water again. Chris ignores him, but his smile gets a little wider, and that’s when Phichit realizes. “Wait, are you—Chris! Put me down!”

This is not the smartest choice of words.

“Gladly, my darling,” Chris says, a little breathless as he rushes forward—and then they’re deep enough, and Chris tosses Phichit straight into the waves. It’s not as cold as before, but it’s still a shock to the senses.

“You’re _awful,_ ” Phichit splutters, as soon as he comes up for air. Chris blows him a kiss, and Phichit retaliates by trying to splash him. He’s too slow; Chris ducks down and immerses himself, and then comes up with an exaggerated sigh.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Chris runs a hand through his damp hair, still very smug. Phichit huffs and lets himself sink back into the water a little, so that the only thing left above the water is his attempt at a petulant expression. Really, he’s plotting.

“Mmm. Very.” With that, he takes off into deeper waters, just a little farther out. Chris blinks after him, and he seems slightly concerned until Phichit sticks his tongue out at him and grins. Phichit keeps paddling around, and Chris eventually starts floating on his back, which is exactly what Phichit was hoping for.

Sneakily, Phichit gets closer. When he’s sure he can’t miss, he ducks underwater and reaches for Chris’ ankle. He breaks through the surface of the water to the sound of a truly hilarious yelp, and laughs as Chris scrambles to get away.

“Hilarious,” Chris gasps, narrowing his eyes playfully at Phichit, who tries (and fails) not to look too pleased at his prank.

“I know, right? I’m amazing,” Phichit says, cheerfully splashing Chris as he advances.

“You’re playing with fire, Chulanont,” Chris warns, and Phichit is fully expecting to be picked up this time. Chris spins him around, once, twice, and then tosses him with an ease that makes Phichit a little more breathless. When he comes up for air, Chris immediately grabs at him again, but this time Phichit scrambles to get out of his grip—they tussle a bit, laughing, until Chris hauls Phichit over one shoulder.

“Put me down!” Phichit commands, unconvincingly. “Without throwing me!” He’s so high on the feel of—skin, Chris’ muscles and arms and the rush of all this _physicality_ that it’s very easy to forget important qualifiers when making demands he really doesn’t care about.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will, _chéri,_ you’re dangerous,” Chris replies, still very amused, and proceeds to _pat Phichit’s ass._ Three times, like it’s meant to soothe the humiliation of being flung over someone’s shoulder like a gym bag.

“...Did you just spank me?” Phichit asks, with an incredulous laugh. He’s convinced that Chris must be grinning devilishly right now, as he tends to do when he gets handsy. (It’s a good look on him.)

“Why, yes, did you want me to do it again?” Chris’ voice is distinctly cheeky, and Phichit swats at Chris’ shoulder, feigning a scandalized gasp. “Because that could be arranged—”

“Has anyone ever told you,” Phichit starts, loudly, “that you’re a complete perve—” Chris cuts him off by falling backwards, sending them both plunging into the water. He also lets go of Phichit, who manages to scramble back up onto Chris’ back despite being breathless with laughter.

“You know this can’t end well, my love,” Chris warns, as he attempts to pry Phichit’s arms off his shoulders. Phichit resists, and responds by blowing a raspberry on the back of Chris’ neck. Chris jumps, startled, but when Phichit’s jostled off to Chris’ side he’s grinning broadly. “You see—” Now that Phichit’s at a disadvantage, Chris manhandles him forward, until Phichit’s forced to hang on by wrapping his legs around Chris’ hips. “I’m very good at getting people where I want them,” Chris says, slyly, allowing Phichit to tighten his hold on Chris’ shoulders and catch his breath.

Their eyes meet, and Phichit lets himself take in how _good_ Chris looks, flushed and mischievous and happy. Somewhere farther off, on the beach, he hears a wolf whistle. _Right, they’re watching us,_ he remembers, with a glance towards his family.

Chris follows his gaze. He doesn’t seem perturbed—if anything, the look he gives Phichit is playful, and then his eyes go to Phichit’s lips, questioning. Interested, even.

Phichit pulls himself closer and kisses him. It’s slow and heady, with just a hint of the scruff that Phichit had thought about earlier, and Chris’ arms tighten around Phichit’s bare torso, making sure that Phichit can keep his balance. He’s not sure how long the kiss lasts; it feels like it goes on for ages until it ends.

When Chris finally pulls back, Phichit feels himself shiver.

“Cold, _Liebling_?” Chris asks, running a gentle hand over Phichit’s side. Phichit nods, even though he _really_ isn’t. Frankly, he’s never felt _less_ cold. But—this is giving him ideas. He’s surprised Chris can’t feel his heart pounding. “Want to go back?”

“Yeah,” Phichit says, with a quick smile. “Let’s find something else to do.”

 

**JUNE 7TH, A SMALLER SECTION OF THE BEACH, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -64.765432 HOURS (3 days)**

“I said I wanted to have _fun_ today, Giacometti,” Phichit complains, in a hushed whisper. “Also, you still haven’t bribed me.”

The instructor, a few paces down, is already sitting in lotus position, back to the ocean. Chris sits cross-legged in a bare patch of sand, and pats the empty space next to him. There’s another couple in front of them, as well as two more off to the side.

Phichit’s just thankful Prija and Alba aren’t here.

He (reluctantly, obviously) sits down next to Chris, and resigns himself to what will surely be a torturous however-long until yoga’s over.

“Hm. How about a massage, afterwards?” Chris says, very innocently. Phichit squints at him, and Chris smiles. “I’ve been told I’m _very_ good with my hands.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “You only said that so you could make that joke, I want an _actual_ bribe.”

“Why, Phichit, how cruel! I would never joke about the things I can do with my hands,” Chris says, and suddenly he’s leaning in close to Phichit, close enough that Phichit can feel Chris’ breath on his ear when he next speaks: “Besides, aren’t you a little curious, _cheri?”_ He pecks a kiss to Phichit’s cheek before drawing back, just as the instructor announces the start to the class.

 _I’m entirely too curious,_ Phichit thinks woefully, thankful that he doesn’t have to say anything.

The instructor starts taking them through a variety of simple poses, and Phichit follows along as best he can. Out of the corner of his eye, Phichit looks around at the other couples. None of them seem to be quite as athletic as Chris and Phichit, or if they are, they’re not as flexible—some are barely able to touch their palms to the ground, bending forward, even with their feet spread, while Chris is folded neatly in two, elbows almost touching the ground.

Phichit quickly looks back forward. He doesn’t need to see the ‘Juicy’ scrawled across Chris’ ass to remind him how great it is.  

Soon enough, the instructor has apparently decided that they’re all warmed up, and starts increasing the difficulty of the poses. Phichit is thankful that skating, at least, has gifted him with flexibility and a decent sense of balance, the latter of which comes especially in handy on the sand. The instructor holds one leg out behind them, in line with their waist, and Phichit imitates them. It reminds him a bit of the spirals he did when he was just starting out skating, when his flexibility hadn’t quite gotten to the point of lifting his leg up above his head.

Chris, next to him, is blatantly showing off, his leg stretching up to the sky.

Phichit reaches out and pokes him in the ribs.

Chris yelps and jumps, the motion unbalancing him and sending him tumbling into the sand. Phichit immediately puts his arms back into a neutral balancing pose, pretending to look down at Chris in confused shock as the instructor tuts softly and the other couples all spare them a glance.

Chris sticks his tongue out at Phichit, but Phichit is protected by the instructor coming around to help people correct their poses. Phichit smiles back.

 _I’ll get you,_ Chris mouths, grinning widely.

“Now, we go back to downward dog and walk our hands up…” the instructor calls, returning to the front of their little patch of beach and demonstrating. They then demonstrate how to lift a leg and an arm, balancing on the diagonal.

“Oh no,” Chris says, too cheerfully for the statement. Phichit glances over; Chris is waving his lifted hand and leg around. “It seems I’m losing my balance.”

“Oh no,” Phichit says, with real alarm in his voice. “Oh no you—ach!”

Chris had fallen over sideways, taking out Phichit’s balancing hand as he did so and sending both of them sprawling into a heap on the sand. Phichit feels like he’s eaten a mouthful of sand, but Chris is draped elegantly on the beach, practically under Phichit, and in trying to keep his balance, Phichit’s somehow ended up with a leg on either side of one of Chris’, and is not practically straddling him. As soon as he realizes this, he blushes and scrambles off.

Their instructor shoots Phichit a capital-L _Look_ of the disapproving variety while he brushes off a few stray grains of sand and then leans back into the position. And then switches hands quickly, because the rest of the group has moved on. They go through one more pose, Chris joining in smoothly, and then their instructor speaks again.

“Alright, now that we’re warmed up, we’ll move on to the couples’ portion of this yoga session.” Phichit didn’t miss the way Chris smiled gleefully. “First, stand back-to-back with your partner, and then interlace elbows… good. Now, breathing out, sit down, leaning on each others’ backs as you do so… you may need to walk your feet out in order to do this.”

Chris and Phichit manage it easily enough, sitting in a wall-sit position—this had been Celestino’s favorite punishment, until he’d realized Yuuri had no issues doing wall sits for minutes at a time and had switched to making them skate suicides—with their elbows tightly locked.

Trusting each other for support, relying on each other to keep their pose—this is probably the whole point of ‘couples yoga’, actually, now that Phichit thinks about it. The instructor sits them there for at least a minute—during which, Phichit’s more competitive side is pleased to note, most of the other couples give up and stand upright again—as they walk around and help other couples fix their holds tighter or spread their feet wider. Their instructor ignores Chris and Phichit, though.

“Good… Now, for the next pose, one partner has to lay on the ground, legs slightly spread, and the other partner has to stand between them.” Chris immediately lays down, somehow turning the motion suggestive as he does so. Phichit rolls his eyes, but goes to stand between Chris’ legs as instructed, trying not to think about a variety of other things that happen between people’s legs.

“Take each other’s hands… and now the partner on the ground places their feet on the standing partner’s hips, right where their hipbones are.” The instructor starts walking around, adjusting a few feet here or there, and Phichit’s only conscious of the fact that he’s gripping Chris’ hands tightly when Chris squeezes back.

“Don’t be nervous, _caro."_

“I’ve seen some photos of couple yoga poses before, I don’t really want to break my neck and die, you know?”

“Ahh,” Chris says sympathetically, giving Phichit’s hands another little squeeze. “That’s understandable, it _is_ dangerous for anyone to fall on my rock-hard abs—”

“Oh my god.”

“—but trust me, I have no intention of letting you fall. This can’t be harder than a skating throw, no? Those have motion involved, this is all just going to be standing still.”

Phichit raises his eyebrows. “You do throws?”

Chris shrugs a bit, his shoulders leaving little dents in the sand. “Sometimes. Marcel used to ask me to demonstrate ice dance lifts, and then the pair skaters at our rink caught wind and started asking me to step in when someone was sick.”

“Wow.”

“Now, the person on the ground straightens their legs and pulls with their arms, until their legs are at a right angle to the ground, while the person standing up holds themselves straight as possible… yes, well done!”

Phichit looks over at the couple who’s apparently done something right, just as Chris snorts.

“You know,” Chris says, “My parents used to do this with me. We called it the airplane game.”

“The airplane game?” Phichit asks, furrowing his brow. Chris nods. He probably has sand in his hair, and Phichit kind of wants to brush it out.

“Yes. Because—” Chris pulls on Phichit’s arms and sticks his legs out, just at the instructor had said, and Phichit is suddenly (once again) airborne. Chris, under him— _under him—_ makes an airplane noise. “—it’s like you’re an airplane. Especially if you spread your hands out.” Then Chris proceeds to dip his knees and twist side-to-side, making ridiculously over-the-top airplane noises the whole while, until Phichit’s laughing so hard he’s gasping and having serious trouble holding his legs out properly. Then Chris slows and brings his legs down to his chest, until Phichit could just lean down a bit and kiss him.

So Phichit does exactly that.

“Excuse me,” says the instructor in a very clipped tone of voice, uncaring that they’re interrupting… something. “But this is the third time you have been disruptive to this class, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” They’re staring Phichit down, and he’s just about to roll sideways off of Chris’ feet when Chris lowers him slowly to the ground, and makes some sort of garbled plane noise.

“Oh no,” he says, deadpan. “We crashed.”

Phichit starts laughing again.

He doesn’t stop until he and Chris, hand in hand, are a ways down the beach.

“So,” Chris says. “I’d say that was pretty fun.”

“It wasn’t _awful,”_ Phichit concedes.

“Not awful?” Chris says with an exaggerated gasp. “I’ll have you know the airplane game was the highlight of my young childhood.”

“Sure, sure,” Phichit says. He lets his thoughts follow the train that they will and then, because he’s curious and _has_ to know—“Do you think you could throw me? Like, on ice, not into the ocean.”

Chris looks over at him, surprise showing on his face for all of a second before he smiles. “You’re what, barely a meter tall? I’m sure me and my considerable muscles could manage,” he says, flexing with the arm not currently holding Phichit’s hand. Phichit laughs and smacks him, mostly to distract himself from remembering how nice it had felt to be in those arms earlier, and how amazing it would be, to have those same arms guide him into the air for a jump… “Unfortunately, I was told there’s no ice rinks on this island.”

Phichit tilts his head. “So you’re saying you would?”

“Of course. When have I ever denied you something, _Schatzi?”_

Phichit laughs again, this time so he doesn’t come out and say something like, _well I’m pretty sure I’m lowkey in love with you,_ or, _please marry me, Christophe Giacometti._ It’s not even Chris’ _fault_ that he’s denying this to Phichit—Phichit doesn’t even have the guts to tell Chris how he feels.

Somehow, Chris seems to sense the shift in Phichit’s mood, and squeezes his hand gently. “I think it’s almost time for dinner, and I need to wash some sand out of my hair. Heading back to the room okay?”

Phichit smiles gratefully. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Plus, there, I can give you a massage,” Chris adds with a playful wink.

“Oh my _god.”_

“Please,” Chris says, as if offended at Phichit’s ingratitude. “A hot shower and a massage—what more could a man want?”

Phichit only hopes his expression doesn’t say, _‘you’_.

 

**MARCH 30TH, HELSINKI, FINLAND, T -1658.947589 HOURS (2 months, 6 days)**

Chris slows to a stop, his pre-skate jog around the rink complete. His earbuds are in, but there’s no music playing—Chris finds that while running, at least, listening to his own breath is the easiest way to get himself centered. And right now, he really needs to be centered—they’re heading into the free skate, and Chris can feel the twinge in his knee that means landing any jumps will take extra concentration.

It’s still Worlds, though, and Chris wants to give his best showing; with that in mind, he starts on his stretching routine, taking extra care with his right knee. Halfway through, he puts on his free skate music, letting the familiar tune—perhaps too familiar, by this point, if he’s being honest—and the mindless stretching zone him out.

He pictures his routine in his mind while he continues his stretches, pulling his leg up into a Biellmann position—somehow always shakier on land than on ice, what’s up with that, anyways—and then the music loops and starts over, and Chris pauses his stretch to give the routine a dry run, marking his jumps.

He pays special attention to the way his hands need to move, to the artistry that needs to go into every step of his program, just in case this is the last.

The music loops again, and Chris props a leg up against the wall, wincing only slightly as the motion pinches a bruise he earned falling in practice, not even two days ago.

It isn’t, so much, that he’s necessarily opposed to retiring, in and of itself—honestly, not having to wake up at four in the morning in order to be at the rink by five is increasingly sounding like exactly his idea of heaven—it’s just that, after all these years dedicated to skating…

Well. Chris isn’t sure what else he would do with his life.

He wonders if this is how Victor felt, before he found Yuuri and dropped out of competing in order to become a coach. Chris has considered doing that before, but when it comes down to it, he’s not sure that coaching would be the right fit for him, anyways. See, waking up at four at the morning in order to be at the rink by five, and then the added strain of having to actually decide what other people were doing, instead of hazily following Josef’s orders…

He’s jolted out of his reverie, leaning in a split against the wall, by the sound of a _thump_ behind him. He looks over his shoulder, and then immediately steps out of the split.

“You okay there, Chulanont?” he asks, looking down at Phichit, somewhat bemused. Phichit’s on the floor, cursing up a storm in Thai—Chris only recognizes a few of them, which must mean Phichit is getting _very_ inventive—and clutching his toe. At Chris’ question, Phichit looks up, strained smile on his face.

“Fine, fine, just, uh. Stubbed my toe. While falling.” The floor hereabouts is completely flat, which is why Chris chose it for stretching in the first place.

“I see,” he says. Phichit’s blushing, which is, as always, an endearing sight, and Chris isn’t oblivious enough to not know what might have caused Phichit to misstep. “Most unfortunate, _caro,”_ he says. “I was just stretching—care to join me?” Chris plants his feet in a half-split, back to Phichit, and then bends down so his elbows touch the ground and he can look at Phichit through his legs. All he’s wearing is his skating costume under a track jacket, and Chris smiles when he notices Phichit’s eyes dart to his ass before refocusing on his face.

“You know, as much as I’d love to join you,” Phichit says evenly, giving his foot one last quick massage before standing up, “I actually need to be finding Celestino now. I’ll leave you to finish, though—and good luck out there.” Chris catches the soft quirk of Phichit’s lips and has a split second to prepare himself before the quip: “You’ll need it.”

“Ah, _mon cher,_ you wound me,” Chris says cheerily, collapsing to the ground in as melodramatic a fashion as he can manage. Phichit snorts and smiles, which is exactly what Chris was going for.

“I’m sure you’ll survive. I’ll see you on the podium, when I’m finally taller than you,” Phichit says, then waves as he vanishes down the hallway. Chris watches him go appreciatively.

Still, Phichit’s words have struck a chord, and Chris returns to his stretching with renewed intensity. The least he can do is go out with a bang, if it comes to that.

* * *

The silver around Chris’ neck is a familiar friend. Bittersweetly so, but familiar nonetheless. Phichit’s managed to nab third, and Yuuri, like his coach before him, has taken gold. Chris masks it all under a broad smile, though, because it’s not as though he’s ungrateful—he’s genuinely happy for Yuuri, who’s worked hard for his place, and Chris himself being second-best skater in the world is no easy feat—but. It’s still only _second-best._

There’s the obligatory photos, the anthems, the flowers, and Chris cops a feel because he knows Yuuri, if not _expects,_ then at least isn’t surprised by it. Chris smiles as he’s rebuffed with a friendly, ‘I’m a _married man_ , Chris’.

Yuuri is ambushed by his proud husband as soon as they all step off the ice, and Chris is momentarily distracted from his unremarkable statement to a reporter because of the sheer _intimacy_ of it—Victor and Yuuri, their hands intertwined, those rings glinting under the strong lights and camera flashes, looking at each other like this competition, this triumphant end, is just the beginning. Of their accomplishments, and their life together.

“Your mother called,” Victor whispers, just loudly enough that Chris overhears. “They’re all really proud of you—” Chris doesn’t catch the rest, but he’s surprised by the _intensity_ of his… not disappointment. Just something like longing.

It’s a mean thought, but he has it, briefly: _am I really, truly jealous of Yuuri Katsuki?_ He knows it’s not true, and he feels bad almost immediately, but then—it’s not Victor or the gold that makes Yuuri seem, in this moment, like the happiest man on the planet. It’s that he has both. Not _just_ the enviable skating career, not _just_ the love and support of his spouse and family, but _both_ —the thing is, if Yuuri Katsuki retired tomorrow, he would figure it all out eventually. He’d settle down and adopt some dogs and Victor would probably talk him into travelling somewhere nice and expensive for entirely too long, and their careers would morph into something that fit whatever schedule they decided to maintain, and life would still seem like an adventure.

Chris can’t say the same.

 _“Chris?”_ It’s Josef, snapping him out of his thoughts with a concerned stare. _“Are you feeling alright?”_

Wordlessly, Chris opens his arms. Josef steps in and hugs him.

 _“You were wonderful today,”_ Josef says, quietly. _“You always are, but I am very proud of you today.”_

 _“Josef,”_ Chris says, _“I_ —"he stops, presses his lips together. There’s something on the tip of his tongue, but if he says it, it becomes real.

Josef Karpisek, unsurprisingly, seems to know without being told. _“We don’t need to talk until you’re sure.”_ He pauses, and then gives that familiar little smile that never fails to settle Chris’ nerves. _“And I’ll be here either way. Whatever you decide.”_ Chris hugs him tighter, and they stand in silence until Josef continues, out of the blue—

 _“You know,”_ Josef adds, _“I don’t think I’ll be the only one.”_ When he looks up, Chris spots movement over Josef’s shoulder.

It’s Phichit Chulanont, waving him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> casual reminder that the time markers are there for a reason! that reason being, in part, to make sure everyone can keep track of when things are happening :')
> 
> [smolmerci,](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) [piyo](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com)


	7. JUNE 8TH, T -48.235640 HOURS - JUNE 8TH, T -35.986281 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris raises an eyebrow for a second, and then his face softens into a smile. “Anything for you, Phichit. You should know that by now,” Chris says, and then closes the bathroom door behind him, leaving Phichit alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy vitya's birthday, everyone...! sorry we took so long, first there was nano, then work rushes and finals, and also we were too busy being gay for each other to write for a bit there, so,,,
> 
> in any case, ENJOY!!

**JUNE 8TH, THE HOTEL BALLROOM, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -48.235640 HOURS (2 days)**

“Listen,” Prija says, hands on her hips. “If I have to deal with the indignity of being shorter than my model fiancée, I should at least get to follow her around and not think about what steps come next. Please lead?”

Alba looks down at her, amused, as Prija pouts, but ultimately caves. “Compromise?” She asks. “We switch halfway through? I think it’d be fun. I also think you’d enjoy bossing me around.”

Phichit tries not to laugh, but doesn’t cover his mouth in time. Prija doesn’t even notice, though, because their instructor starts offering advice—it’s Chris who catches him, giving him a fond look as he shakes his head.

“What?” Phichit asks.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to lead, given Alba’s point—” Chris laughs as Phichit narrows his eyes up at him. Phichit wishes he was taller, and perhaps dressed in something other than a crop top (“NO SELFIE CONTROL,” Yuuri thought it was funny and Phichit’s gotten to that point in his laundry). It’d be nice to look _down_ at Chris’ smug face, for once.

“Ha, ha. As a matter of fact, _Giacometti,_ I’m happy to follow your lead. I’m guessing you’re used to leading?” Phichit is, in fact, also used to leading, but the prospect of learning to follow is sort of interesting—and it’s not like he hasn’t watched his classmates back in Detroit practice.

“You know,” Chris says, smile growing wider, “you shouldn’t make assumptions about people’s preferences based on their height. I don’t mind switching.” And then he winks, and Phichit tries not to think too hard about the vivid mental images that conjures.

Composing himself, he steps forward and offers his hand. “Well, in that case,” he says, smoothly, although he can’t help but try and send Chris a nonverbal _you’re ridiculous_ look, “shall we?”

They start off with a salsa, because the instructor is running through all the ballroom basics with the family; Alba and Prija thought it would be fun, and given that the reception is going to be one big dance party, most of them could use a refresher. Naturally, Chris and Phichit are an exception.

Eventually, they switch to a tango.

“Want to make this more fun?” Chris asks, eyes twinkling, still letting himself be led by Phichit. (Phichit will never admit that he does sort of like getting to boss Chris around.)

“I thought I’m supposed to be calling the shots here,” Phichit points out, teasingly.

“Hence why I’m _asking_ , and not just taking the lead, _caro_.” Chris’ eyebrows are raised, and Phichit can’t resist grinning back at him.

“Well then,” Phichit says. “By all means, carry on.”

“Alright,” Chris says, “To start, switch hands with me—on the beat, now—” As the tango music strums out the end of the fifth count, Chris and Phichit smoothly switch hands, Phichit now holding on to Chris’ shoulder, and Chris with his hand, warm and firm, on Phichit’s waist. “Good, now, step forward, into me.”

As Chris moves a foot back, Phichit steps forward into the space Chris has just vacated. Chris smiles at him and pulls Phichit a little closer, so that their chests are almost touching. Phichit tries his best to will the flush away from his cheeks. Chris leads them around for a full two measures, steering them clear of the others and keeping them moving in a pattern that only he’s aware of—it’s a little thrilling, actually; Chris is capable and competent, and Phichit can only hope that some of that brushes off on him as well.

“Now for the real trick,” Chris says, and abruptly changes their direction, stepping forward into Phichit’s space. Phichit catches himself just in time, and takes a step back. “At the end of this measure, spin once, okay? And then act like you’re doing a butterfly jump. I’ll hold on to your waist.”

Phichit frowns, processing, but then the measure is over and Chris is pressing on his waist. Phichit follows the instruction and spins, and then Chris’ hands are firmly around him and Phichit kicks off, legs flying through the air as Chris brings Phichit around, landing him back practically between Chris’ own legs. Their chests are definitely pressed together now, and Chris’ face is tantalizingly close.

Chris winks and steps back abruptly, then twirls Phichit so that Phichit’s back is to Chris’ chest. Phichit can feel his breath when Chris whispers, “The usual tango moves now, starting with the left foot—at the end of the measure, turn towards me quick, then back out, sound good?”

“Whatever you say,” Phichit says, focusing his best on not grinding up against Chris too much. This is… really fun, actually. The end of the measure comes, and Phichit flickers in and then out again, and they repeat the process for another two, until they’ve reached the end of the ballroom.

“Turn and butterfly,” Chris instructs as they stop for a beat, his nose gently brushing Phichit’s. They execute the move, and Chris walks Phichit backwards. The music makes as though it’s about to end, and Chris’ smile widens. “Can I dip you?” he asks.

 _God, please_ , is what Phichit thinks in that moment; what he actually says is more like, “Sure!” Chris nods, leads them in a tight circle, and then says ‘ready’ under his breath. That’s all the warning Phichit has before Chris wraps an arm firmly around his waist and steps forwards, leaning Phichit almost against his knee.

At the last second, Phichit remembers to point his toes.

As soon as the music’s done, clapping rings out all across the ballroom, and Phichit looks up, startled, to see that his entire family _and_ the instructor are clapping, all looking suitably impressed. Chris presses a quick kiss to Phichit’s lips before bringing them both up to standing.

“That was so cool!” Prija says, bouncing a little bit on the balls of her feet.

“Did you guys practice at all?” Alba asks curiously.

“Ah, not really,” Chris says with a glance at Phichit. “Phichit’s a quick study, though, I figured he could handle it,” he adds with a grin.

“Don’t flatter me,” Phichit says. “You planned all of that.”

“I’m impressed,” the instructor says. “Not too many people can choreograph something like that on the fly and make it work. Have you ever considered choreography?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Chris says.

“I think you’d be good at it,” their instructor continues, then claps twice, sharply. “Now then—everyone back to lessons! We’re going to try a slower song, this time, since everything we’ve practiced up til now has been pretty fast-paced.” A new song starts up, and Chris listens attentively to the beat while Phichit watches him. “Chris, the basic move is like this,” the instructor says, demonstrating something. “Have at it! Now, as for the rest of you—”

Phichit stops listening to the instructor as his attention is claimed by Chris. Phichit doesn’t recognize the type of dance—he’s more familiar with ballet than ballroom, thanks to Yuuri—but Chris appears to, and he starts softly counting out the steps to Phichit as he leads them.

“One, two, three and four, one, two, three and four—that’s it,” he says as they fall into the rhythm,  moving slowly and fluidly across the dancefloor. The instructor is helping Phichit’s parents, and Alba and Prija seem to be just swaying gently in place when Chris spins around Phichit, setting himself into the following position. Phichit does his best to lead like Chris does, moving them in an aimless pattern around the whole of the ballroom.

“Switch leads?” Phichit says as the music starts to swell.

“Great minds think alike,” Chris says with a wink, lifting an arm and letting Phichit twirl under it. “Ready for some tricks?”

Phichit grins. “Oh, absolutely.”

What follows is an exhilarating series of lifts and dips and spins that have Phichit laughing and Chris smiling and both of them generally seeming to greatly enjoy themselves. They end with another great finale, this time with Phichit doing the dipping and Chris being truly extra, his leg sticking up in an almost vertical split.

“Show off,” Phichit mutters, but he still runs the hand that isn’t supporting Chris’ weight up the back of his thigh, then hooks his elbow around Chris’ knee, pulling Chris up to standing with his leg still in Phichit’s arms.

Chris bats his eyelashes. “Why, Phichit,” he says, tightening his arms around Phichit’s neck.

And then, of course, Prija wolf-whistles, startling Phichit and causing him to almost drop Chris.

“Prija!” he says, purposefully and slowly setting Chris down, but she, like any good older sister, just laughs.

“That was very nicely done, boys,” the instructor says.

“Ah, thank you,” Chris says, Phichit repeating it a second later.

“Now then, how are the rest of you feeling?”

There’s a general furor of assent from the rest of the group.

“I think we might even be able to pull off the first dance,” Alba says with a smile, her arm snug around Prija’s shoulders.

“You’ll do fine, I’m sure,” Alba’s mom says, rolling her eyes lightly, no doubt at the fact that anyone would ever think that Alba Pellicer would be incapable of doing something.

“Glad to hear that,” the instructor says, unplugging their phone from the stereo. “In any case, I have to get to my next lesson, but you’ve got the ballroom for another thirty minutes. I wish you the best of weddings!” Several thank-yous chorus out as the instructor takes their leave, and then the room falls into silence for a bit.

“Well,” Alba finally says. “I guess we keep practicing until we’re kicked out?”

“Hey, Chris!” Prija says. “Can you come over here and so some fancy choreo for us, too?”

Chris laughs. “Well, can’t deny the brides, now can we?” He squeezes Phichit’s hand once before letting go (Phichit absolutely does not pout as Chris walks away). It’s not that he doesn’t love his sister or want her wedding to be the most fantabulous thing in the world, it’s just—well. He never gets to dance with Chris as much as he’d like to, is all.

Which is kind of _really_ annoying.

 

**APRIL 24TH, LE BOYS BOUDOIR, BRUSSELS, BELGIUM, T -1122.846623 HOURS (1 month, 16 days)**

Chris smiles as he waves his small gaggle of friends—Phichit, Victor and Yuuri, Georgi, Michele, and Emil—into the club. This is the last night of their ice show tour, and Mila and Sara had announced they were going to have a girls’ night (most likely this means they’re going to find some dark corner and make out until morning, but hey, Chris isn’t one to judge), so Chris decided he and the rest might as well make a night out of it as well.

The gang disperses soon after entering, already having had a few drinks back at their hotel. Victor drags Yuuri to the dancefloor in short order, and Yuuri doesn’t even seem to mind, immediately finding the rhythm of the song and using his athleticism to full degree. Chris makes his way more slowly to the bar, sliding into a blessedly empty seat and asking the bartender for a tequila sunrise. As he waits, a hand drops on his shoulder, and Chris turns.

“Well, hello,” he says, drawing out the words in the most ostentatiously flirty way he knows how. He’s rewarded with Phichit’s laugh.

“Long time no see, huh,” Phichit jokes. Just then, the bartender returns with Chris’ drink. “Ooh, what’d you get?” Phichit asks, leaning on Chris while Chris pays. He’s clearly already tipsy from their hotel drinks, but then again, so is Chris.

“You can try some if you like,” Chris says, and Phichit smiles brightly at him before doing exactly that. He smacks his lips as he returns the drink, and Chris resolutely doesn’t think about how much he wants to kiss Phichit again. It’s been months since the wedding, but, still—they’d decided on friendship, and Chris can live with that.

“Drink faster,” Phichit orders, tugging on the hem of Chris’ shirt. His cheeks seems a little more tinted than usual. “I want to dance.”

“Well, if you insist,” Chris says, throwing back his head and downing the rest of his drink. It’s not really meant to be a shot, but the music and Phichit are calling, and far be it from Chris to not answer.

As soon as he’s set the empty glass down, Phichit reaches for his wrist and tugs him along, out into the pulsing dancefloor. They’re quickly separated, losing each each other in the throng. Chris looks around, but before he can find Phichit, he feels a light hand on his flank.

Chris turns to look—it’s a different young man, wearing a sheer tank top that hides nothing, let alone his LED-lit nipple piercings. Still, he has a very handsome face, and when he gives Chris an entreating look, Chris smiles back at him.

The eye contact is brief, because Chris and the stranger aren’t shy; they step forward and find a rhythm almost immediately. He’s got a nice smile, and when he slides an arm around Chris’ neck to pull him close enough to grind against, it’s _fun_ , but—

“I need another drink,” Chris says, once the song ends, into the guy’s ear. “Would you like one?”  
  
“Yes please,” the stranger says, playfully, and winks. He keeps close to Chris as they make their way over to the bar, and makes some comment that Chris is just slightly too distracted to process. Victor is standing at the bar, wearing that look he gets when something is highly amusing, and Phichit is talking at him with a petulant expression that Chris has never seen before.

Still, they are far enough away that he might be able to get his drink unnoticed, and that’s the better option. (Unless he wants to keep pining. Or, well, if he wants to drop all pretenses of _not_ pining.)

Five shots later, Chris has discovered that Nicolas very much enjoys vodka and dancing, and is capable of being an excellent distraction right up until the moment that he sees Phichit out of the corner of his eye. He’s dancing with someone very tall and very blonde and—smiling, so clearly whatever was wrong before isn’t now.

Nicolas chooses this moment to pull Chris down into a kiss. He’s got a bit of stubble going on, and it’s different enough that Chris can _almost_ force himself to focus. It’s a short, unsatisfying thing, despite Nicolas’ very eager hands and general—attractiveness, objectively. He pulls away slowly, smiling apologetically, and mumbles something about getting water from the bar. Nicolas looks at him, and in that split second of eye contact Chris feels exposed, somehow.

He does go to the bar, and slides onto a stool to ask for water, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact with the other patrons. Until, of course, he spots a familiar face.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks, easily getting closer despite the crowded bar. He doesn’t seem to notice the way people look at him, even now.

Chris thinks about it. “I’ve been better,” he answers, finally.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flit over to the dancers. Chris knows that he shouldn’t look, but he does, and he sees Phichit with that stranger and something you could probably call  _unfriendly_ tightens his throat to a straw. He’s aware of the face he’s making, and he can feel Yuuri’s eyes flicker over to it.

“He could do better,” Chris says, as the guy bends down and makes a duckface for Phichit’s camera. Phichit laughs.

Yuuri actually rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you just dancing with some guy who had lights in his nipples?”

“I was dancing with someone who wanted to dance with me,” Chris says, touchily. Yuuri looks a little thrown off, but before he can comment, Chris finishes his water and sighs. “Shots?”

 

**JUNE 8TH, NORTH CORNER OF THE HOTEL LOBBY SOMEWHAT HIDDEN BY A LARGE POTTED PLANT, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -42.283999 HOURS (2 days)**

Phichit frowns.

He’s been searching for Chris for the last fifteen minutes—Prija had called him over to ask him a question about what kind of lighting would be the best for photos at the brides’ table, and when Phichit had turned around, Chris had vanished—and he _thinks_ that’s Chris’ wine-red dress shirt peeking out from behind the fake bush, but why would Chris be hiding?

Still frowning, Phichit walks over. His question is answered soon enough—he knows Chaisai and Anada well enough to be able to recognize their whispered muttering, even if he can’t make out any of the words. Phichit steps around the bush, and sure enough, a tablet disappears behind Anada’s back and they immediately stop muttering.

 _“Oh, hi Phichit,”_ Anada says, grinning widely. Phichit narrows his eyes.

_“What are you hiding?”_

“We’re not hiding anything, we swear! Right, Chris?” Anada says, nudging Chris.

“Mm, yeah, no. Not hiding anything,” Chris says, though he seems a little out of it. Phichit spares a moment of concern for Chris, but then he hears a ruckus back by the entrance, and he looks over.

“Oh, crap, they’re here,” he says. “Chris, c’mon, we gotta go meet the rest of the family.” Phichit puts a hand on Chris’ arm, guiding him up and away from the definitely scheming twins. Phichit gives them the ‘I’m watching you’ sign over his shoulder, to which the twins just smile innocently.

“You’re going to have to tell me who everyone is,” Chris says as they proceed to where Phichit and Alba’s parents are already gathered, spreading hugs and kisses to all the guests. He already looks a bit less not out of it—clearly, whatever damage the twins have done isn’t permanent.

“I’ll do my best,” Phichit replies. It’s been a while since he’s seen seen most of these people, and half are Pellicer relatives, anyways. Phichit’s about to add on a quick _it’ll be fine, though_ , when he’s interrupted by a shout and a hug.

_“Oh Phichit! It’s so nice to see you again!”_

_“Hello, Grandma,”_ Phichit says, hugging his grandmother back. She pinches his cheek.

 _“You’ve grown so much! I hope you’re eating right, you look too thin—oh, and who’s this?”_ Grandma Darin cuts herself off, looking over at Chris with raised eyebrows. Chris glances quickly at Phichit, then responds in shaky Thai.

_“Hello! My name is Chris, it is very nice to meet you!”_

Grandma Darin smiles effusively, and then pinches Chris’ cheek as well. _“So polite! Is he a friend of yours, Phichit?”_ she asks.

Phichit hesitates for only a moment. _“No he’s—this is my boyfriend.”_ Chris seems to recognize that word, because he nods enthusiastically.

 _“Yes! Boyfriend!”_ he says, and Phichit has to smile, overcome with a wave of warmth. Chris is communicating in _his_ language with _his_ family and—and, _god_ , Phichit wants this to be _real._

 _“Oh, well I’m so happy for you! Finally getting in a solid relationship! You know I worried with all the skating that you’d never find anyone but it looks like you’ve done yourself a good job,”_ Grandma Darin says, patting Chris on the cheek. Then she shuffles off, beelining towards Prija.

“Well, you made a good impression,” Phichit says, elbowing Chris in the ribs. Chris smiles back at him, looking relieved.

“I wasn’t sure if what I was saying was right or not,” he admits, looking down at Phichit a little sheepishly.

“No, you did great,” Phichit says. Chris wraps an arm around his waist, and Phichit feels them both settle down slightly.

“Well, if you say so. So! One down, several more to go?”

Phichit looks over towards the entrance, where another van of guests is rolling up from the airport. Quite a few of them look like they’re here for the wedding.

“I think ‘several’ might be an understatement,” Phichit says, but smiles a bit at the prospect of seeing everyone again. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Chris answers, and together, they walk towards the fray.

* * *

It’s a whirlwind of getting everyone to their rooms and making sure all suitcases are where they’re supposed to be, and then it’s already time to wrangle everybody down to the dining hall. There’s a number of tables reserved for the wedding party but no particular order (at least, not yet), and so there’s also the dance of trying to get everyone seated in such a way that no little kids are separated from their parents.

In the end, dinner goes pretty smoothly—the main Chulanont and Pellicer families are spread fairly far apart, mingling with more distant relatives and friends, though Phichit and Chris are still seated next to each other. Chris, naturally, has the rest of the table (Phichit included, of course) completely charmed—most of Phichit’s extended family are at least somewhat aware of what goes on in the figure skating world, and a few have become die-hard fans since Phichit emerged into the international circuit.

Uncle Pasan and Chris get into a deep discussion on the merits of certain types of choreographic elements while Phichit and two of his cousins, Kitti and Sasi, catch up on their favorite TV series. Which really just means Phichit grills them about the story arc of his favorite characters, because between his training-slash-travelling-slash-competition schedule and the fact that he’s not living in Thailand anymore, it’s a bit hard to stay up to date.

Things proceed calmly throughout the first round of plates from the buffet, with no questions being thrown at Chris and Phichit that they can’t answer—just the standard affair, such as when they met and all the places they’ve been. At one point, Chris taps Phichit’s shoulder and feeds him a(n admittedly delicious) bite of something he’d grabbed for dinner, earning them a few catcalls, but Phichit’s too busy enjoying the soft look on Chris’ face to care.

(At least for now, he can have this, right?)

As the dessert buffet gets filled by staff and subsequently rapidly emptied by resort guests, Aunt Wayo switches seats with Kitti. She’s Uncle Pasan’s sister and pretty much the stereotype of a crazy cat lady, if crazy cat ladies had snakes instead of cats. She’s also one of the more indoctrinated into skating life, and wastes no time getting not only Chris’ autograph, but also Phichit’s.

“I’ll sell this on Ebay, make a fortune,” she proclaims, waving the now-signed notebook cheerily in one hand and toasting with her almost empty wineglass in the other.

“If you do, we better get a cut!” Phichit jokes back, and Aunt Wayo waves him off.

“With all the gold you boys are winning, I’m sure you don’t even need it!”

Chris shifts slightly, and Phichit reaches out to grab his hand before he thinks about it, squeezing gently. Chris squeezes lightly back, but doesn’t let go of Phichit’s hand.

“So, what are you two planning on doing after the wedding?” Aunt Wayo asks, leaning gamely over the table to have her wineglass once more refilled by a member of the waitstaff. Chris and Phichit exchange a glance.  

“Ah, well, you know,” Chris says, turning back to Aunt Wayo and sparing Phichit the burden of making up something on the fly. “The competitive season starts in a few months, so we’ll just be enjoying the free time before getting back to the ice. How about you?” His hand tightens over Phichit’s, ever so slightly.

“Oh, how fun!” Aunt Wayo says, then launches into a story about the travelling she and her husband have planned, using the wedding as a starting-off point.

Phichit only listens half-heartedly, a small pit of dread sinking into his stomach, because Aunt Wayo’s right—what _will_ they do after the wedding?

 

**JUNE 8TH, ROOM 413, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -35.986281 HOURS (2 days)**

“So. Um. What are we doing after the wedding?” Phichit asks. Chris is standing by his suitcase, fishing around for his pyjamas, and Phichit is sitting on the bed, his hands gripping the bedsheets probably more tightly than strictly necessary. Chris pauses as soon as the words have left Phichit’s mouth, then straightens up.

For a moment, before Chris turns to face him, Phichit wonders if he should have been more clear. After all, this was supposed to be—simple.

Chris’ face is carefully neutral. Phichit’s beginning to suspect that means something, but he’s not sure he wants to know _what_ , exactly. “Ah. Well,” Chris says, slowly, “I suppose if we broke up right away, it would look suspicious, and—”

“We’ve been so convincing,” Phichit agrees, and they both laugh, quickly. “Uh, so far, anyway. It’d be a shame to waste it, right?”

“Right.” The search for pyjamas seems to have been abandoned, because Chris settles down next to him on the bed, side-by-side, and gives him a small smile. “So, we wait, and maybe a month or two from now…?” Chris takes his hand and squeezes, and Phichit smiles down at their interlinked fingers.

“Gonna be hard to maintain that if we’re not in the same country,” Phichit points out.

“We can say that’s why it didn’t work out. Long distance trouble.” There’s a long pause, and then Chris continues. “And, of course, I’d be happy to have you come visit if you want, _Schatzi_. Duchess misses you, and there’s plenty to show you, and we could—” Phichit stops listening, because he’s both suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to go and completely aware that he won’t.

Sharing a hotel room, going to the beach, attending a wedding—these things will stay in Laluna, in pretty vacation photos and memories replayed at family gatherings, but they’ve still left their mark on Phichit despite the fact that they’re completely distanced from his everyday life. Sharing Chris’ apartment? Running around Switzerland and playing with his cat and waking up early to go to the rink together? It would be _impossible._

“I think,” Phichit says, cutting off whatever unattainable pipe dream Chris was in the middle of describing. “I think we shouldn’t do that. It’d just be—” _—just be that much harder to let you go._ “Just be prolonging it, you know?”

Chris looks away briefly. “Right, yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

Phichit searches for something to say, but comes up empty. Chris sounds… blank, in the same way that his face sometimes goes blank sometimes—but, well. Phichit’s probably reading too much into it.

“So… we end it amicably, then? Say the distance was too much, but that we still want to be friends?”

Phichit hastens to nod. “Yes, yeah, that—that sounds good. I don’t… I mean, it can just go back to how it was before, right? Friendship?” Phichit knows he’s lying to himself, but, well. If this lets him keep Chris’ friendship, then it’ll be worth it.

“Yes, of course. Yes. Well, I’m glad… I’m glad we got that sorted out,” Chris says with a faint smile, standing up and stretching. He goes back to his suitcase. “Mind if I take the first shower?”

“Go ahead,” Phichit replies. “And… thank you.”

Chris raises an eyebrow for a second, and then his face softens into a smile. “Anything for you, Phichit. You should know that by now,” Chris says, and then closes the bathroom door behind him, leaving Phichit alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3
> 
> [smolmerci](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) & [piyo](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com)


	8. JUNE 9TH, T -23.141465 HOURS - JUNE 9TH, T -15.851802 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You just know, sometimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! it didn't even take us a number of months this time!

**JUNE 9TH, PRIJA’S HOTEL SUITE, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -23.141465 HOURS (1 day)**

“Hey! You okay?” Really, Phichit should be asking Prija, because she’s practically vibrating. Her smile seems strained, and it’s the first time he’s seen her in anything as plain as a t-shirt and jeans for the whole vacation.

“Didn’t sleep a lot last night,” he says, waving away her raised eyebrows. “Anyway. How are you? Where are the twins?”

They’d all agreed to a siblings-only brunch today, simply because they haven’t been alone together in a while. (Technically, it’s a “best men” brunch, too, minus Emilio, who is off with Alba, though they’d gotten up early and packed something to eat after walking down the beach.)

“Just woke up,” Prija says, rolling her eyes fondly. “Anada was messing with their phones yesterday and turned off their alarm, or something.” She falls silent, for a moment, and moves to the desk, where there’s a thermos of coffee. Phichit nods at her before she asks, smiling, and they sit on the bed with their coffees. “I guess I’m nervous? Not, like, tv-show nervous. I mean, there’s all these little things I want to go well tomorrow, and I hope Alba likes my vows but I’m not looking at them again until tonight because otherwise I’ll just be editing them all day, but,” she stops for a sip, and her eyes soften. “I’m not worried about us. I’ve known she was it for me since the beginning. Telling everyone else that I want to spend the rest of my life with her is just—telling everyone something I already knew.”

Phichit nods. He’s happy for her, and also very—moved, maybe. There’s something striking about her certainty, even though it feels almost familiar. His first impulse is to lean over and hug her, one-armed, and then he leans his head on her shoulder. “That’s gay,” he says, finally, just to break the silence. “And you’re a big sap.”

Prija laughs. “ _You’re_ gay, and I am _not_ a sap—”

Chaisai and Anada find their older siblings squabbling, coffees largely forgotten, and immediately start yelling about “SUCH IMMATURITY” and throwing themselves onto the bed. It takes a solid three minutes for everyone to settle down, at which point Chaisai’s stomach rumbles. Prija’s set up the table with food, and they uncover and dig in.

“Oh, Phichit,” Anada says, through a mouthful of strawberries, “We still need to interview you—”

“Interview me? For what?” Phichit asks, amused. Also, it’s better to ask, because sometimes ‘interview you’ means generic questions that will be edited and sometimes it means going on Facebook live and trying to think of something to say when your kid brothers ask you invasive personal questions.

“The _wedding video,_ ” Chaisai says, with great solemnity and a touch of irritation. Phichit repeats this phrase, questioning, and the twins exchange an unimpressed look. “We definitely mentioned it.”

“Maybe you should spend less time mooning over your _boyfriend_ and more time paying attention,” Anada says, drawing out the syllables in _boyfriend_ as obnoxiously as possible. “Anyway! It’s a video about the wedding and we’re asking people about love, because weddings. It’s just you and Emilio left, and Emilio’s not done ‘writing his statement’, so—”

“Why don’t _I_ get to write my statement?”

“Are you a poet?” Chaisai asks, huffily. Phichit has to laugh.

“Okay, okay, fine! Right now?” He pretends to be annoyed, but Phichit’s quite used to the twins and their camera by now, and there’s something nice about chatting while eating and making Prija laugh in the background.

“What’s your favourite thing about being in a relationship?” Anada asks. Phichit has to smile, because he’s really starting to sound like a miniature reporter.

“Having someone to be there and talk about the important things, and all the little things. So, companionship, I guess? Being able to have fun and also get real about things.” Phichit says, because that’s an easy enough question. If he thinks over the past few days, that’s how he’d describe the best moments he’s had with Chris—and that’s true no matter what happens after the wedding.

“And what’s your favourite thing about your boyfriend, Christophe Giacometti?” Anada continues, and the phrasing is funny enough that Phichit can _almost_ ignore the mixed feelings it brings up.

“His—”

“Ass,” Prija mouths, and winks. Phichit flicks a blueberry at her.

“Eyes,” Phichit says, crossing his arms. If he answers for real, it’ll be a long and embarrassing ramble that he’ll probably regret immediately after the wedding, so.

“Really? Wow, Chris’ answer was way better than that,” Anada says, judgily.

“Wait, what? He answered? Can I see?” Phichit asks, leaning towards the camera. Anada opens his mouth, clearly ready to deny him with all the authority of a tiny reporter on a power trip, but Chaisai shrugs first.

“Maybe his answers will be less boring after,” he says, to Anada, who considers this as they both ignore Phichit’s protests of “hey, I’m SUPER interesting—” (“If you have to say it,” Prija says, and grins instead of finishing the thought.)

It’s all on Chaisai’s laptop, which is brought over and set up on the table. Chris’ footage is clearly from yesterday, because Phichit recognizes that potted plant.

“My favourite thing about Phichit? It’s hard to just pick one thing,” Chris says, smiling, and Phichit feels himself grinning in response. “He’s handsome and bright and talented, he’s kind, he’s an excellent dancer—”

“One thing,” Anada reminds him, off-camera. Chris sighs dramatically, but then turns thoughtful.

“Phichit is brave, but the thing I like most about him is that he approaches the world as though he doesn’t need to be. When he talks about competing, he’ll tell you right away that he doesn’t have the sort of legacy that Victor or Yuuri have, for example, but he doesn’t say it like it’s an obstacle. He’s enthusiastic, he wants to be excited. When Phichit looks at something, he can always see a possibility for greatness.” Chris seems to realize he’s been talking for a while and looks down, then back up, smiling. “And, well, when you’re Phichit, of course greatness follows.”

The next question is something abstract that makes Chris chuckle, but Phichit’s too overwhelmed to pay attention. Of course Chris thinks highly of him, they’re good friends, but this—this is… something that makes Phichit feel hopeful.

“How can you tell that someone’s right for you?” Anada asks, offscreen, and Chris looks away from the camera with a little smile, like he’s not even thinking about it, but his eyes are searching for someone. It makes Phichit’s breath catch.

“Well, first of all, you should have fun with them,” Chris says. “And chemistry is important. But obviously it takes more than that. You should be able to talk to them about your life, and you should be invested in theirs. When you’re with someone who’s good for you, you should feel like a team. You should understand each other. And,” he adds, just as his eyes fix on something in the distance, softening, “you just know, sometimes. That you could wake up to him every morning and go home with him every night, happily, for the rest of your life. Because there’s no one in the world you’d rather wake up with.”

The clip ends, and there’s a brief silence until a sniffle breaks it. Stunned, Phichit looks over to a teary-eyed Prija.

“Sorry, I’m just really emotional,” she says, laughing. “Must be the nerves. I was just—I was just thinking, he’s _really_ in love with you, isn’t he? It’s so sweet—” Immediately, Chaisai and Anada start poking fun, making kissy noises and pretend-wailing about _“TRUE LOVE_ ” and that “ _WE’RE ALL SUCH A BEAUTIFUL FAMILY TOGETHER,_ ” and Phichit decides to let himself be swept up in the moment, because—

Because there’s something deep in his chest that feels lighter than ever before, and he can’t bear the thought of losing that feeling.

 

**NOVEMBER 28TH, ST.PETERSBURG, RUSSIA, T -4428.237915  (6 months, 2 days)**

Chris and Phichit are holding hands as they exit the taxi, and Chris’ thumb is brushing against Phichit’s pulse point—he can feel Phichit’s heart pounding. “He doesn’t bite, you know,” Chris says, amused at the way Phichit cautiously enters the corridors leading to the rink’s administration.

“I’m a bit more worried he’ll verbally eviscerate me, actually,” Phichit replies.

“If he were going to eviscerate anyone, it would have been Vitya first, and that a long time ago.”

“What, you were innocent?”

“Darling,” Chris says with a grin, gesturing for Phichit to take a right. “I was Yakov’s _favourite.”_

Phichit snorts. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

Chris tuts. “Vitya would have you believe that I was the instigator, which is a _lie._ He was the force behind all of our… escapades.”

“‘Escapades’,” Phichit mutters, though with a smile. “Didn’t you guys once fly to New York mid-season just to compete in a drag race?”

“No comment,” Chris says, though he makes sure to wink. That had been one hell of a night, that was for sure. They enter a small antechamber, and Chris points to one of the doors. “That’s the one.”

Phichit takes a deep breath. “Alright. We’re doing this for Yuuri and Victor. We got this.” Despite his words, he’s smiling, video camera in hand, and looks excited.

Chris pats him on the shoulder. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this.” Phichit knocks on the door, and they wait for a few seconds until they hear some shuffling, and then the door opens.

“Hello, come in,” Yakov says, stepping back. There’s a few chairs set up opposite Yakov’s desk, and Chris and Phichit both take one. “So you are making a video? For Vitya?”

Phichit glances at Chris. Chris gestures to go right ahead, and Phichit smiles slightly before turning back to Yakov.

“Yes! So our idea was to gather some clips of Victor and Yuuri as they grew up and make a video montage, but skating clips only show us their skating, and we thought—you know, they’re great skaters, but that’s not _all_ they are. And so we thought that we could interview their coaches and family and friends to get a sense for… for everything else,” Phichit explains, gesturing expansively. Chris catches Yakov’s eyebrow twitch, the one that Victor swears up and down means approval.

“Okay, yes, good idea,” Yakov says. Phichit looks relieved. “What do you want to know?”

Luckily, they’ve prepared a list of questions, and Chris reads off the first one while Phichit handles the camera.

“What was your first impression of Victor?”

Here, Yakov actually smiles. He looks fond. “He was a—what’s the word, a brat? Yes, a brat. He was a brat, but a very determined brat. Headstrong. There was a bit of natural talent—there always is with the champions—but he always… he was never above working hard to meet goals. I saw that, I liked it, so I brought him into our club. And then the rest is history.”

“Tell us a funny or embarrassing story about him,” Chris reads.

Yakov thinks for a moment, then stands up. “Better idea,” he says, walking over to a shelf and pulling out a slim CD case. He hands it to Phichit. “His first few competitions. Stubborn brat wanted to make his own costumes, but they’re… Mm. You’ll see.”

Phichit’s practically shaking with glee. “Thank you, Mr. Feltsman!”

“Anything for Vitya. Now, other questions?”

They proceed down the list until they’re done, and then Phichit and Chris stand to excuse themselves. Yakov, however, seems to have other plans—his lip twitches, and he drums his fingers once on his desk.

“Thank you, Phichit. Go on, I must speak to Christophe now,” he says. Chris frowns and Phichit looks downright alarmed, but no one disobeys Yakov (except Victor. And Yurio. And Mila… and sometimes Georgi…). Anyways, Phichit leaves, and Yakov wastes no time—he smiles again, and Chris can almost see where the glint in Victor’s eye that means _trouble_ comes from. “So,” Yakov says.

“Um,” Chris responds. He knows that Yakov’s like a father to Victor, practically something like a gruff workaholic uncle to Chris himself, and god knows Yakov’s walked in on Chris and Victor being, generally, rather stupid a number of times—hair dye, body glitter, and that one unfortunate time where they’d almost gotten up the nerve to pierce each others’ ears by hand—so by now Chris really shouldn’t be as intimidated by Yakov as he actually is.

“That Chulanont boy,” Yakov says.

 _“Um,”_ Chris says again, though he tries his best to keep out the note of panic that’s invaded his voice. “What about him?”

“Nice, yes? Good friend?”

“I—yes, he is. Why?”

“Is he _only_ a friend?” Yakov presses, and Chris has an uncomfortable feeling about where this is going. Yakov seems too happy with himself for it to be anything else.

“Yes. Just a friend.”

“He’s a good boy. Celestino says many good things about him. Not bad skater, either, you know. He’s a good choice.”

 _“Yakov,”_ Chris says, and Yakov just shakes his head.

“Blame Vitya, always running his mouth. But what I say is true—he’s a good boy.”

“I—I know,” Chris says, feeling the heat in his cheeks. “He really is.”

“Good. I will see you at the wedding, then. Goodbye.” This appears to be final, because Yakov stands and sees Chris out the door.

“What was that all about?” Phichit asks as soon as Chris catches up to him in the hallway.

“Ah, his present for Vitya,” Chris lies. Phichit narrows his eyes, but doesn’t press the issue as they hail a cab and head off to Pulkovo.

 

**NOVEMBER 29TH, HASETSU, JAPAN, -4419.713679  (6 months, 1 days)**

Chris frowns dubiously up at the hiragana sign. He’s got his glasses on because he and Phichit have come here pretty much straight from the airport—honestly, the dedication they give to their friends—and their prescription isn’t as up-to-date as the one on his contacts. “Is this the place…?” he asks Phichit.

“Yep!” Phichit, despite having spent the last twelve-odd hours on a plane, is somehow still energetic, even despite the faint bags under his eyes. “Yuuri took me here this past summer.” Chris scratches at his undercut.

“Lead the way, then,” he says, and follows in Phichit’s wake as Phichit proceeds to burst into the bar. It’s not particularly late, but there’s already a few customers at the counter, and behind it is a frazzled-looking young woman. Chris frowns again. “That’s not her...”

Phichit shakes his head. “No, but _that_ is.” Chris looks at where Phichit’s pointing and—yes, that’s Minako. She’s clearly already several drinks in, but when she spots Chris and Phichit in the doorway, she freezes.

Then she lets out an ungodly shriek that sounds vaguely like Chris’ name, and all but falls off the bar stool to rush over. At some point she switches from excited Japanese to no less excited English, though Chris is still having some trouble following what, exactly, is going on, as he tries to explain their mission.

Phichit’s laughing at him, Chris can tell.

Finally, though, they get Minako’s whole-hearted approval of their project (and possibly Chris’ butt? He’s not certain, but he’s flattered) and move to a table in the back of the bar. Chris is on question duty again, mostly because Phichit wants to put his photography skills to use and get a proper framing on the video.

They leave the bar several hours and—despite themselves—a few drinks later.

“Hey!” Minako says, stopping them in the entrance and sticking a finger into Phichit’s chest a few times. “Be! Nice!” Phichit makes an expression that Chris can’t decipher before it’s smoothed away. Then Minako rounds on Chris. “And you! Phichit is a good boy! Be! Nice! To! Each! Other!” Then she stills, suddenly looking heartbroken. “No flower crown for you now… I will give you one tomorrow. Or Phichit will. You need a flower crown, you look so—so—so _handsome!”_

“Ah, thank you?”

“Yes, yes, now go sleep. I need to go sleep…” so saying, Minako walks abruptly off with more coordination and grace than anyone as drunk as she is should possess. Chris and Phichit both watch her go for a moment.

“Will she be alright?” Chris asks. Phichit nods, not meeting Chris’ eye.

“I’ve seen her get herself home just fine with worse.”

This isn’t nearly as reassuring as Phichit seems to believe it is, but still, Chris trusts his judgement. Phichit starts to walk, and Chris follows him.

“Do you think they’ll like it?” Chris asks as they trudge up the hill towards the Katsuki hot springs, dragging their suitcases behind them.

Phichit gives him a look.

“I looked at the CD Yakov gave us on the plane ride, and I can tell you right now that Yuuri would actually _kill a man_ to see baby Victor skate.”

“Well, you have a point,” Chris concedes. “We still have to edit it though…” He rubs at his eyes under his glasses. It’s going to be a long night. Phichit pats his shoulder.

“The Katsukis have good coffee. Plus we already have most of it done, it’s just Minako’s part we have to edit in!”

Chris sighs, but smiles anyways. “What would I do without you, Phichit?”

“Make _lame_ movies for your best friend’s wedding, duh,” he says, nudging Chris playfully.

Chris laughs. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

They take the last few meters to the hot springs in silence, and once they enter, they’re greeted by Mari, cigarette in hand and vaguely amused smile on her face.

“Hi, Mari!” Phichit calls.

“Welcome back,” Mari says, and then to Chris, “and welcome. Yuuri and Vicchan are… asleep.”

“Ah,” Chris says.

“Ah,” Phichit adds. “Hey, Mari, so I know it’s late but do you think we’d be able to sneak into the kitchen and make some coffee or something?” Phichit asks as Mari finds some keys for them.

Mari shrugs. “You know where it is,” she says.

“Great!” Phichit replies. He looks at Chris. “Ready?”

“No, but let’s do this anyways.”

 

**JUNE 9TH, THE NICEST HOTEL BANQUET ROOM, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T -15.851802 HOURS (1 day)**

Finally, all the guests are here, and Phichit spends at least an hour mingling with Alba and Prija’s college friends and coworkers before the actual rundown of the ceremony. They skip the vows, instead just laying out basic instructions for who needs to be where and briefing them on the order of speakers for the reception. All in all, he was expecting it to be more complicated.

It gives him time to miss Chris. They’re restricted to wedding party only, which means Phichit’s also giving two very excited ring bearers and fellow best men significant looks, but Chris is out there alone. He’s not worried; it feels like a long time since he’s worried about Chris handling himself with the family.

It’s just that the mingling had been nice, meeting all those pretty people with Chris’s arm around him, both of them dressed up and smiling and pausing every now and then to kiss.

“Alright! That’s everything, thanks! You can all go back to the others, guys,” Prija calls, after a few quick words with the wedding planner. Relieved, Phichit follows the twins back to the main party.

Chaisai and Anada make a beeline for the dessert table—it’s definitely thirds, by now, at least—but Phichit stops, frowning, because he can’t see Chris anywhere.

“Hello, darling.” Phichit turns around and there he is, smiling, with two glasses of wine. “Heard you were done in there. Drink?” Chris offers, and Phichit gladly takes a glass.

“You’re my favourite person,” Phichit says, with utter seriousness, and Chris laughs. They smile at each other, and then Chris tilts his head to the crowd of people around the college table, questioning. Phichit shakes his head.

“I missed you,” he confesses, pulling his chair close to Chris’ as they sit at an empty table.

Chris hums, pleased, and wraps an arm around Phichit’s shoulders. “I missed you too.” There’s a beat of silence, and Phichit’s mind immediately goes to how little time they have left—which is when Chris looks at him, a teasing sort of smile on his face, and continues. “It was so terrible, my love, being without you for—an hour? An hour and a half, but wasn’t it an _eternity?_  I had to duck behind a potted plant for a quick cry—”

Phichit can’t help but laugh, and Chris’ smile becomes triumphant before he leans in to press a kiss to Phichit’s temple. “You’re laying it on a little thick, babe,” Phichit says, trying not to blush.

“Just a little,” Chris agrees. Then: “Babe?”

“Oh, shut up,” Phichit says, even though he immediately laughs. “It’s a term of endearment just like _sweetheart_ or _darling_ or—what is it? _Schatzi?_ And didn’t you call me _kitten_ —”

“No, I like it. It’s very American of you. _Babe,_ ” Chris says, grinning, as if he’s still trying out the word.

“I’m not an American,” Phichit reminds him, because Chris likes to tease him about slang sometimes and it’s silly. Their recurring argument is cut short by the arrival of the college buddies, who seem very taken with Chris—one in particular, some objectively model-hot guy from Prija’s undergrad classes whose name starts with a B, is really not hiding his appreciative looks. Phichit keeps smiling and listening to the chatter, but he does slide an arm around Chris.

He doesn’t want to look up and check if Chris has noticed anything, but he feels Chris’ eyes and the quick rumble of a silent laugh and reddens. Thankfully, Chris doesn’t call him out; instead, he reaches for Phichit’s cheek and gently tilts his face up for a kiss. When Phichit looks up, the guy is walking away, and Chris is smiling at him.

“How would you feel about grabbing one of those bottles and sneaking back up to our room?” Chris asks, green eyes full of mischief, and Phichit immediately links their arms and starts walking towards the table. They manage to hold in their laughter even when Chris very exaggeratedly “sneaks” a bottle of wine under his blazer, right up until the elevator doors close behind them.

Once in their room, Phichit immediately tosses himself onto the bed and sighs happily. “You’re brilliant,” he says, watching as Chris sets the bottle down by two wine glasses. It’s hard not to admire him as he opens it, easily and smoothly, and Phichit’s aware that Chris catches him as he turns around with their wine—he winks.

“To us,” Chris says, glass raised. Phichit clinks them together, oddly nervous, and drinks.

The nervousness doesn’t last, though, because Chris leans over to kiss the top of his head before settling in close beside him. He’s so happy that Phichit can’t help but melt into the feeling, into the comfort of being together.

“I missed you,” Chris repeats. “I’ve been very spoiled, lately. Spending so much time with you.”

Phichit smiles, pleased. “Yeah, lucky you,” he says, playfully. “You’ve had almost a whole week of basking in my presence—” Chris raises his eyebrows, amused, and takes a drink as Phichit grins up at him. “Okay, seriously, though. Thank you. This whole thing has been so much more bearable with you. And fun! So. Thanks.” Phichit takes another long drink, eyes wide open, as Chris watches him with a fond expression.

“You don’t have to thank me for something I’ve enjoyed this much, _Liebchen_.” There’s a slight pause, and then Chris blinks and smiles widely, the kind of distracting smile he makes when there’s something he’d rather not talk about—in this case, it’s obvious what he’s avoiding. Phichit doesn’t want to think about going home either, although for Chris it’s probably going to be hard for entirely different reasons. Decisions about his future. “Speaking of a good time, darling, why don’t we make this a night to remember?” With a wink, he gestures towards the wine bottle.

“I’m in,” Phichit says, immediately. “Drinking game?”

“Oh, that’s dangerous, the night before a wedding,” Chris replies, with a smile so impish that it must mean a yes.

“Okay,” Phichit says, after a quick google search on his phone. “We should watch the Princess Bride, and we have to drink every time  there’s an iconic line, everytime someone says _inconceivable,_ every time someone says _as you wish_ , and—”

Forty minutes in, Phichit is giggling uncontrollably even though he has no idea what Chris actually said, seeing as he’s curled in with his face pressed against Chris’ chest. Chris has both arms around him, wine glasses and bottle all empty and set aside. It’s very warm, and comfortable.

“You smell nice,” Phichit sighs, and Chris squeezes him slightly. Then, perhaps more quietly, because he hears it as if he’s very far away: “I wish you would never go.”   

The last thing he feels before falling asleep is Chris’ hand smoothing gently through his hair.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way! the final chapter count has been edited, we're almost there! just one more chapter and an epilogue :)
> 
> [smolmerci](http://smol-merci.tumblr.com) // [piyo](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com)


	9. JUNE 10TH, T +00.748002 HOURS - JUNE 11TH, T +26.287499 HOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _phichit: well. i hope you find what you’re looking for, then. <3 _

**JUNE 10TH, THE NICEST HOTEL RECEPTION-SLASH-BALLROOM, LALUNA, ST.GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T +00.748002 HOURS**                                                  

Phichit stands up, clinking against his champagne flute with a knife. He was half expecting it to break, but it’s actually surprisingly effective—almost everyone shuts up and watches him expectantly. He glances over at Alba and Prija, who are holding hands tightly and who keep glancing at each other, almost as if they can’t believe that they’re actually _married_ now.

Phichit smiles broadly at them, and turns to the rest of the crowd, flourishing a piece of paper he’s untucked from his pocket, so that it unfolds. The speech is scribbled on hastily—Phichit had decided that morning that speaking on the fly might not be the best idea. Then again, he’d been a bit hungover and all he’d written for the beginning is _‘intro’,_ so it’s possible having things written down might not even be too much help, in the end.

“Well, Prija asked me to give a speech, and I’ll be honest—I’m a little bit intimidated. I mean, skating in front of people is one thing, but _talking?"_  A muted chuckle sweeps the room, and Phichit shakes his head slowly. “But I’ll try my best, for Prija and Alba. When I was thinking about what I wanted to say in this speech, actually, my first thought was to tell an embarrassing story about Prija when we were kids—like that one time she asked me to cut her hair when mom wasn’t looking—but then I thought: what’s the reason that we’re here?” Phichit glances down at his sheet, because this is where his notes start.

“And I came to the conclusion that that reason is love.” Phichit stops and looks up at Prija and Alba again. “Love is a lot of things.” Emilio and his parents are sitting just past Prija and Alba, across from his own mom and dad with the twins. Chris is next to them. Like he’s already part of the family.

“Love is giving people food off your plate, because you think they’d like it.” When he’d written it down, Phichit had meant the way Prija and Alba constantly shared bites of everything, but thinking back on it now, he’s done the same. With Chris. “Love is trying all sorts of things with someone, even if you’re terrified, because you trust them to be there to catch you.” Like rock climbing on beaches. Or yoga. “Love is waking up next to someone, day after day, and always being so grateful that their face is the first one you see.”

Phichit glances up from his paper again. The people around and in front of him are expectantly silent, waiting for him to go on, but one in particular catches his eye. Chris is smiling at him, that soft, gentle smile that Phichit—that Phichit _loves._

“Loving someone is caring about them in all conditions; when they’re happy, when they’re sad, when they’re angry. Loving someone is caring for them even when you’re angry, or sad, or so incandescently happy you honestly think you could burst.”

Phichit tears his gaze away from Chris, his heart doing a funny little thing in his chest.

“Love is such a big word, you know? And I think sometimes, people are scared of saying it.” Phichit pauses, takes a breath. Focuses away from Chris. “Or maybe, it’s not that they’re scared of saying it—they’re scared they’ll _mean_ it.” Phichit sets down his notes; he doesn’t need them for this last bit.

“To say you love someone is to be vulnerable. It’s exposing yourself—the deepest, softest part of yourself—to another person. And for this, it’s also the greatest act of bravery I can imagine.” Phichit raises his glass.

“Tonight we’re here to celebrate Prija, and Alba, and their unfaltering bravery in declaring their love in the loudest, brightest, gayest way possible—marriage. Three cheers to the brides!”

The cheers from the gathered assemblage ring out over all the tables, and everyone drinks. No sooner Phichit’s lowered his glass, than he’s pulled into a crushing hug by Prija.

“That was beautiful,” she whispers into his ear, and Phichit hugs her back.

“I’m so happy for you,” Phichit manages, and means it, but his throat feels tight and dry all of a sudden, and when Prija pulls away, she frowns.

“Are you okay? You look a little—”

“Whoo, they weren’t kidding about emotions running high at weddings,” Phichit says, quickly, blinking. His face feels very hot. “And, uh, public speaking. I’m just gonna—take a breather. Be right back, okay? You have fun!”

Prija looks unconvinced, but Phichit only has time for one last smile before rushing off into the hallway, not running—no need to cause a scene—but still at the quickest pace he can manage.

It’s much quieter once the door closes behind him. The hall is empty, but the bathrooms are down to the left, so anyone could wander out—instead he makes for the stairwell. It’s dead silent in there, and he makes it up a few stairs, intending to go up to his and Chris’ room, when he stops, vision too hot and blurry to make out where he’s headed.

 _Shit,_ Phichit thinks, _okay, deep breaths._ He sits on the steps and tries to calm himself, but adjusting his cufflinks and straightening his lapels can’t keep him from thinking what he doesn’t want to think. Despite everything—

 _I’m in love with him,_ Phichit admits, and that’s when the tears come.

 

**APRIL 24TH, LE BOYS BOUDOIR, BRUSSELS, BELGIUM, T -1120.283768 HOURS (1 month, 16 days)**

Chris is, if he’s being honest, what the Americans call _hammered._

It’s a good thing he’s past the age of pushing his limits, because a few years ago he would’ve simply dragged Victor back to the bar and ordered another round; instead he takes the spinning that happens whenever he closes his eyes as a sign to order some water bottles, call two cabs, and round up the others.

Victor and Yuuri are easiest to track down, with Victor’s height and Yuuri’s increasing loudness. They find Georgi emerging from the bathroom stalls with a queasy look on his face; Michele and Emil left an hour ago, Georgi informs him, between grateful gulps from one of the water bottles.

“Where’s Phichit?” Yuuri asks, frowning, as Chris wonders the same thing. He’d lost sight of him—well, who knows when, really, seeing it’s mostly been a blur of _trying_ to ignore Phichit all night.

“I don’t know,” Chris replies, eyes searching. He’s not in the crowd. “Maybe outside? Let’s get you and Georgi outside and I can keep—”

“I _never_  leave without Phichit,” Yuuri says, eyes narrowing. He looks exactly how he gets in competition sometimes, but more flushed. Victor exchanges a look with Chris, and then tiredly instructs Georgi in quiet Russian to ask the cabs to wait.  

“You tell me if you find him,” Yuuri says, to Chris, who nods. It’s a little worrying, now, that Phichit wasn’t anywhere in sight outside. Victor and Yuuri push themselves through the crowded dance floor, and Chris decides to check the bathrooms.

It’s surprisingly empty; if it weren’t for the sound of someone throwing up a few stalls down, he’d just leave.

“Phichit? Phichit, is that you?” Chris knocks on the stall door, gently, and there’s a wet sniffle from inside. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

There’s a shuffling noise, and then the door clicks open. Phichit’s kind of a mess: eyeliner smudged all over the place, hair sticking up at odd angles, forehead damp with sweat. “I drank too much,” Phichit croaks. He’s silent for a second, then adds: “I’m sorry, Chris.”

Chris does the only thing he can think of, which is to open his arms. Phichit steps forward immediately, swaying. Chris tightens his arms. “Don’t be sorry, _tesoro,_ ” he says, softly. “I’m glad I found you.”

Phichit sniffles again, into Chris’ shoulder. He might be ruining Chris’ shirt, but Chris can’t bring himself to care. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not,” Chris says, confused. Phichit stares up at him, frowning, eyes shiny and disbelieving, and Chris softens slightly. “How could I be mad at you? You’re my favourite.” With that, he winks, and Phichit finally smiles a little.

“You’re drunk,” Phichit accuses.

“Mm, yes, darling, and so are you,” Chris points out, and begins to steer Phichit towards the doorway. “Now why don’t we all go back to the hotel and you can tell me all about the boy from earlier—”

Phichit makes a rude, dismissive noise with his mouth, and Chris almost laughs, but that’s when Victor and Yuuri spot them and rush over. After much drunken affection, they manage to find their way to the cabs, and Yuuri insists on taking Phichit in the same car as him and Victor. This leaves Chris with Georgi, who spends most of the car ride nodding off.

Chris watches the city go by through the window and lets his mind wander. _Why would he think I would be mad at him?_ He keeps coming back to that question, to the look on Phichit’s face. _Does he know I still…?_  

His phone vibrates.

 _phichit: thank you <3 _  
_phichit: and sorry for being a weirdo_  
_phichit: and for ruining your shirt!!! :(_  
_phichit: i hope you still had fun tonight with your guy_

Chris frowns and sighs, then replies.

 _chris: that’s what friends are for, petit. i always have fun with you. <3 _  
_chris: anyway, what’s one shirt to thailand’s pride and joy? ;)_  
_chris: as for the guy_ _  
chris: he wasn’t who i was looking for._

Chris waits up a little, after brushing his teeth and setting his alarm, to see what Phichit will respond to that, but the answer doesn’t come until morning. By the time he wakes up, Phichit is already checked out of the hotel.

 _phichit: well. i hope you find what you’re looking for, then. <3 _        

 

**JUNE 10TH, AN ALMOST EMPTY STAIRWELL, LALUNA, ST.GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T +01.237714 HOURS**

Phichit wipes his eyes, pulling his knees up tighter to his body. This isn’t how he planned it to go—now he’s going to have to stop by the bathroom to touch up his eyeliner, because even if his tears didn’t smudge it he’s pretty sure his fingers have. At least he managed to escape the reception and hide before completely breaking down over his beautiful fake love life. And painfully real feelings.

He’s taking deep breaths and trying to psych himself into getting up when he hears a knock on the stairwell door.

“Phichit?” The door opens, and Phichit doesn’t have time to react before Chris’ head pops in. As soon as he takes in Phichit, Chris frowns. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, moving forward to wrap Phichit in his arms without hesitation. Phichit can feel new tears prickling at the corners of his barely-dry eyes as Chris sits next to him, third step up from the ground, and pulls him closer.

He laughs, wet and disbelieving, into Chris’ chest.

“No,” Phichit says. “No, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me why you’re afraid,” Chris asks. His hand is settled, warm and protective, on the small of Phichit’s back, but all Phichit can think about is how he’s either going to lose all this, or—or something so much better that he can hardly bring himself to think it through.

“I just—I can’t—” and now Phichit’s actually crying, _again,_ and Chris is looking at him like he cares _so much._ “I don’t want to ruin this, but I think,” Phichit says, eventually, in the smallest of whispers. “But I think I might have. And I just wish we could stay like this, because I don’t want to lose you.”

Chris pauses, fingers hesitating over Phichit’s back. “Why would you lose me, _Liebchen?”_

“B-because,” Phichit admits, finally, as loud as he dares, “I’m an idiot and I’m in love with you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he says it, so he doesn’t have to look at Chris’ face; only, his eyes startle back open as Chris slips his fingers under Phichit’s chin and tilts his face up.

And then Chris kisses him.

“I can’t believe,” Chris says, after pulling away, “you haven’t realized,” he continues, and Phichit notices then that his eyes are shining, “that I love you, too. I was going to tell you tonight. I—” Phichit cuts him off with a kiss.

They break apart, for a second, staring at each other, but then Phichit can’t help but reach up and kiss him again, and again, and again.

After one last long, slow kiss, they pull apart. Phichit looks up at Chris, finally free to commit every line of his face to memory. He’s flushed and handsome, and he’s so happy that Phichit never wants to forget what it looks like.

“You really mean that?” he asks, unable to keep the smile off his face. Chris grins right back.

“Every word.”

Phichit’s smile grows larger, and he averts his eyes, fiddling with the lapels of Chris’ suit jacket for a second to process his embarrassment.

“Oh shit!” he yelps suddenly, disentangling himself from Chris’ arms. Chris raises an amused eyebrow at him. “How long have we been in here?” Phichit asks. “We have to get back at the reception! We have to get to the bathroom, I have to re-do my eyeliner—”

“Do you have it with you?”

“What, the eyeliner?” Chris nods, and Phichit pulls the thin pencil out of his pocket. Chris takes it gently, and gestures for Phichit to sit back down.

“Let me,” he says. Phichit blinks once before sitting down, feeling his cheeks warm as Chris takes his fancy pocket square and uses it to wipe away the smudges. Then, with careful precision, Chris uncaps the eyeliner and puts his fingers under Phichit’s chin. “Close your eyes.”

Phichit does, and soon enough he feels the cool pressure of the liquid eyeliner drying. Chris finishes both eyes, then tells Phichit to open them. Chris holds out his phone, set to selfie mode, and Phichit examines Chris’ work.

“Perfect,” he says, and Chris presses a kiss to his temple. Phichit presses the capture button, saving the photo to Chris’ phone before exchanging it for his stick of eyeliner. Chris pockets his phone, then stands and holds out his hand.

“Shall we?” Chris is looking at Phichit with that soft look again, the one that, if Phichit’s honest with himself, he’s been seeing for days now. Phichit sets his hand in Chris’ and lets himself be pulled up.

“Let’s.”

They don’t let go the entire way back to the reception. The meal has apparently been served while they were gone—the room is full of boisterous chatter and the clinking of utensils.

The first person Phichit looks for is Prija, because he has a feeling she’s looking for him. _Talk later,_ she mouths, when she spots him. Then: _you okay?_

He nods, squeezing Chris’ hand, and Chris ducks down for another kiss right before they reach their table. They take their seats amidst catcalling and laughter, and the first thing Phichit does when they’re settled is offer his boyfriend a bite off his plate.  

Chris’ tongue briefly darts out to lick Phichit’s fingers as he takes the small appetizer from Phichit’s hand. Phichit blushes, which is only compounded by Chris’ subsequent wink and Anada’s _‘OH MY GOD YOU GUYS, GET A ROOM!’._

The rest of dinner is equally good—the resort staff had outdone themselves, both with taste and presentation, and by the time they get to the final dessert course, Phichit feels like he could burst. Chris catches his eye and pats his stomach, where he’s already undone the buttons to his suit jacket and looks like he’d enjoy undoing the buttons to his vest, too, and Phichit nods in commiseration.

At last, though, the last of the plates are cleared away, and Alba stands up, calling everyone to attention.

“Okay, so now we’ve got a bit of engineering ahead of us—if everyone wouldn’t mind standing up and helping to push all the tables and chairs to the sides of the room so that we can dance in the middle?” she says with her best lawyer-voice. “Tables flush to the wall, and then the chairs can be more towards the middle so that people who don’t feel like dancing can still sit.”

There’s a beat of silence when she finishes, and then the whole ballroom bursts into action, those strong enough to push tables doing so and the rest—Grandma Darin, for example—loudly supervising. Once the ballroom actually looks like a ballroom again—squished together, the tables take up surprisingly little space—Prija gets up on her table, high heels carefully avoiding crushing the painstakingly made paper butterflies.

She’s got a bouquet in her hand, and a cheer goes up from all the guests.

“Alright!” Prija shouts, smiling. Next to her, having gotten up on the table as well, Alba’s gazing up lovingly. “Anyone who wants to be in the bouquet toss, get up here! Everyone who’s already married—you probably don’t have to be, but I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life.” Then Prija turns around, getting herself ready to toss over her shoulder as people push their way closer to her table. Chris grabs Phichit’s hand and pulls him into the fray.

“Three!” Alba says.

“Two!” says Prija, still not looking at the crowd.

“One!”

Prija tosses the bouquet with a whoop.

Phichit watches it arc over the crowd, the delicate rainbow ribbons holding it together fluttering in the air, and then suddenly he realizes the flowers are headed straight towards him. He holds out his hands and catches it, almost by accident, really—he wasn’t _intending_ to, and now he’s got an armful of ludicrously expensive flowers (Prija has refined taste) and is almost being deafened by the cheers going up around him.

He blinks twice at the flowers, blinks once more for good measure, and then his head jerks around to look at—

Chris. Chris is smiling broadly, as happy as Phichit’s ever seen him. Then his arms are around Phichit and Phichit’s being picked up, flowers and all, hoisted above everyone’s heads as Chris laughs warmly. Chris twirls Phichit around a few times before lowering him, though he still doesn’t set him back down.

Instead, he kisses Phichit, then leans in closer. “I love you,” Chris says, right by Phichit’s ear, finally letting his toes touch the ground again.

Phichit still feels like he’s flying, and they dance the night away.

 

**JUNE 11TH, THE NICEST HOTEL RECEPTION-SLASH-BALLROOM, LALUNA, ST. GEORGE’S, GRENADA, T +26.287499 HOURS**

“Okay, full disclosure?” Prija says, which instantly has Phichit up on his guard. She’d found him helping to clean up a few of the things they didn’t want thrown away from the wedding—he’d originally thought it was to say goodbye before leaving for her honeymoon, but the tone in her voice suggests otherwise. “I totally thought you and Chris were bullshitting me until like… yesterday, a few hours ago, but now I don’t think you are, are you?” Phichit freezes. “Please tell me you two have your shit together.”

“Well,” Phichit says slowly. “Actually—I mean, no, no, we do have our shit together now!” he says as he catches Prija’s distraught expression, which smoothes quickly into confusion. “We have our shit together now, but… well, how much time do you have?”

Prija immediately pulls over two chairs from the nearest table. “Enough,” she says.

Phichit sits opposite to her, takes a deep breath, and starts to talk.

Some stories, after all, just need to be told.

“Well,” Prija says with uncharacteristic softness once Phichit’s done. “I’d say this turned out well for you. I mean… he clearly loves you.” She pauses for a moment. “But if you think I’m not recounting this entire story in my speech at your wedding, you’ve got another thing coming, little bro.”

Phichit laughs, then, and stands up, shoving Prija lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?” he asks. She shrugs.

“I mean, probably, yeah. Hugs first, though.” She holds out her arms, and Phichit gladly goes.

“Have fun on your honeymoon, buttface,” Phichit says, just because he’ll miss her.

Prija laughs. “Thanks, loser. Have fun with your new boytoy.” As she pulls away, she pauses, grinning. “Or, well, is he really a _new_ —”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phichit rolls his eyes and pats her on the back, and she ducks down for a quick peck on the cheek before finally heading for the door, loudly instructing him to send her deets when he figures out his new(?) love life.

Being left to his own devices is weird, but it doesn’t last long.

Chris wanders into the room a few seconds later, his arms full of crepe paper. “Darling, I took these from the corridor, where should they go?”

Phichit looks at him for a few seconds. Chris tilts his head, his green eyes barely peeking over the crumpled white paper, his hair completely mussed up from hours of reception dancing and then having slept on top of it. (And, well, maybe Phichit’s hands did some mussing of their own.)

“I love you,” Phichit says. Chris’ gaze immediately softens, and he dumps the crepe paper onto a nearby table before coming right up to Phichit. Gently, reverently, Chris cups his hands around Phichit’s face, the pads of his thumbs brushing against Phichit’s cheekbones.

“Well,” he says, his voice deep and warm, “I love you, too.” Then he leans down and Phichit leans up, and their lips meet in the middle, and Phichit can’t help but smile into the kiss because, well—

This is _real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. this is the final chapter--the chapter count says 10, but that's because there will be a short epilogue at some point in the future; the main storyline, however, is complete. 
> 
> with that said, thank you all, from the bottoms of our hearts, for reading and commenting and supporting us while we wrote this <3 see you all next level!! ;)


	10. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you ready?"   
> "I was ready two weddings ago."

**MAY 18TH, ZWEISIMMEN, BERN, SWITZERLAND, T +8448.092385 HOURS (11 months, 18 days later)**

“Are you ready?”

“I was ready two weddings ago,” Chris jokes, smoothing down the lapels of his suit. Victor watches him, amused, as he fusses. “Is it normal that I’m nervous? He’s probably already waiting, isn’t he? Does texting count as—”

His phone beeps.

_ tesoro <3 <3 <3: EYELINER CRISIS _ _   
_ _ tesoro <3 <3 <3: give me 5 to fix it :* _

“Relax,” Victor says, smiling. “All you’re doing today is telling everyone the truth, which is that Phichit Chulanont made an honest man of you—”

“Excuse you, I have always been honest about my adventures—”

“—And that you intend to spend the rest of your life with him, and if you could tell me that drunk a year ago, you can tell everyone else now, when you’re sober.” Chris grins, and finally stops fussing, and Victor gives him the type of professional once-over that Chris has seen a thousand times before, usually rinkside. It grounds him.

Victor stands next to him, tall and handsome in one of his typically gorgeous  _ I-promise-I’m-not-stealing-your-thunder  _ tuxedos, plain black since today he is just Christophe Giacometti’s best man. 

Chris spends a few seconds staring at their reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or are we old?”

Victor rolls his eyes, but the next thing he does is duck his head down to check his hair. Chris laughs, and Victor shoots him a look before giving the mirror one of his photoshoot expressions, serious and a little thoughtful. “We are older,” Victor acknowledges. “But we’re very lucky people, too.” He smiles, then, undoubtedly thinking of Yuuri—or maybe more than that, Chris realizes, as Victor slides an arm over his shoulder. “More loved.”

They look at themselves, smiling, and Chris nods.  

***

Chris wonders if barely registering the ceremony is normal. Walking up, he’d noticed everything—Prija and Alba sitting together, grinning and happy, both of their hands clasped over where Prija is just starting to show signs of the baby on the way; Chris’s mother leaning her head on his father’s shoulder, winking at him as he passes by—but as soon as he sees Phichit, the rest blurs into background noise and the sort of photographic blur that betrays his true focus. 

Then again, not everyone’s husband-to-be is as handsome as Phichit Chulanont. 

His eyes are bright and excited, looking up at Chris, and his hair is slicked back in the way that makes him look like a Disney prince. It’s strange to be silent as they stare at each other, except for the vows and responses they give on cue; Phichit’s smiling like he’s itching to say something, and Chris grins back helplessly. He could look at him forever.

_ We did it, _ Chris thinks, almost disbelieving.  _ He’s here with me, for good. _

When the officiant tells them they can kiss, it’s almost a shock—Phichit steps closer, eager and gorgeous, and tilts his face up towards Chris’s with a smile. It’s so endearing that Chris finds himself gathering Phichit up into his arms and dipping him backwards, like they might be dancing, and Phichit lets out a surprised laugh before Chris finally kisses him. 

If anyone catcalls, Chris doesn’t notice. The world is all Phichit.

 

**MAY 16TH, BANGKOK, THAILAND, T +8406.298388 HOURS (11 months, 16 days later)**

“Yuuri,” Phichit mumbles, gripping tighter to Yuuri’s sleeve as he stumbles over—a curb? A stair? “Can I take the blindfold off, yet?”

“No,” Yuuri replies immediately. “You’re not allowed to know where we’re going until we get there, you should know how this works!”

Phichit whines, but doesn’t remove the tie wrapped tightly around his eyes. A hand on his chest stops him abruptly.

“Okay, there’s stairs here, so just… step up,” Yuuri says. 

“Wow, thanks,” Phichit says, sliding his toe forward until it hits something, and then raising it and stepping. Getting up the stairs takes… a while. Yuuri, at least, is patient, though Phichit can practically  _ feel _ the nervous energy in the air around him. 

Once the stairs are done, Yuuri guides Phichit through what seems like a veritable maze (it only occurs to Phichit halfway through that Yuuri could be turning him around just to throw him off), but finally, he hears other footsteps, and then Guang-hong’s voice. 

“Everything’s ready!” 

“What’s ready?” Phichit asks suspiciously. Guang-hong tsks, but it’s Yuuri who answers. 

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says, pushing Phichit forward. Phichit huffs, but lets himself be guided until he’s sitting down in a chair. The tie is abruptly removed, and Phichit blinks a few times, taking in the low, red-tinged light, the heavy curtains, and the short catwalk emerging from the stage that leads directly to where Phichit’s sitting, front and center. 

There’s also a pole on stage, gleaming and expectant. 

Phichit gasps, and turns around—most of his friends are sitting in chairs at various points in the small room. Yuuri’s smirking as he folds the tie into a pocket, Guang-hong has got his phone out, and even Seung-gil looks subtly pleased. 

In fact, there’s only one person missing, but Phichit’s got a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly where Chris is. Or at least, is going to be. 

He’s proved right when a low beat starts up, rumbling through Phichit’s chest and picking up speed until it’s going along at a decent clip. Then the rest of the music starts, and the curtains are thrown open. 

Chris is standing there, the navy blue suit he’s wearing perfectly tailored, and his hips are moving to the beat as he makes eye contact with Phichit and winks. 

Phichit gulps. 

As the lyrics kick in, Chris dances out to center stage, then flips the suit jacket off his shoulders, revealing suspenders and a white shirt so thin and delicate as to almost be see-through. Phichit hears a few whistles—and a Russian cheer—and decides to join in, whooping loudly. Chris blows him a kiss, and Phichit blushes as he catches it. 

The dance continues, Chris coming close enough to loop his tie around Phichit’s neck after he’s stripped it off. Phichit tries for a kiss, but Chris just winks and retreats, shimmying his hips as he undoes his belt. 

The belt gets tossed to their friends, same as the shirt and suspenders, and Chris somehow manages to make the act of removing his shoes and socks  _ sexy _ (Phichit loves him  _ so  _ much). Chris hangs onto the pole with arm strength alone for a revolution before dropping his pants—he’s in dark briefs which are just tight enough to not really hide anything, and he steps out of the pants as the music stutters and changes beat. 

The next part is all pole dance—Phichit recognizes some of the moves from things he’s seen Chris practicing in the last month, but he’d never once guessed that it might have been something for  _ his _ benefit. 

Needless to say, he’s utterly delighted. 

Just as the music starts to wind down, Chris dismounts the pole and struts over, settling himself into Phichit’s lap and kissing him soundly, much to the amusement of the rest of the audience. 

“So?” Chris whispers as the music dies off completely. Phichit runs a hand up along his ribs, enjoying the feel of warmth under his palm. “What did you think?”

“Best bachelor party ever,” he whispers, before pulling Chris down for another kiss.

 

**MAY 18TH, ZWEISIMMEN, BERN, SWITZERLAND, T +8448.983777 HOURS (11 months, 18 days later)**

Once everyone’s settled into the reception, Prija stands up. She’s grinning, and Phichit’s hand clenches tighter around Chris’. This is how Chris knows that Prija’s grin is the trouble-making sort of grin. 

“Now, I’m sure all of you wonderful people know how Chris and Phichit met,” she says. The audience, split about fifty-fifty between people in the skating world and family, gives a knowing chuckle and a few smatterings of applause. “But,” Prija continues, bringing everyone back around to anticipatory silence. “I do believe that it is my solemn duty to let you all know how,  _ exactly,  _ they got together.”

“Oh no,” Phichit mutters, sinking down into his chair. He’s smiling, though, and blushing, and Chris leans over and kisses him. Kisses  _ his husband.  _

“I mean, sure, they’re cute  _ now, _ but a year ago, at me and Alba’s wedding? Let me tell you—” And with that, Prija launches into the story of Chris and Phichit’s fake dating arrangement, secret pining and all, ending with the dramatic wedding confession. Everyone laughs, and by the end Phichit’s not the only one blushing—Chris is sure his own cheeks are also red. “But I’m so glad they found each other, and that they’re here, proclaiming their love for each other. To the grooms!”

“To the grooms!” comes the cheer, and everyone raises their glass. Then, prompted by, of all people, Yuuri, Chris and Phichit are egged into kissing again. 

Not, of course, that they mind. 

Suddenly, the clapping dies off, and Chris looks around for a moment before noticing the cause—Josef Karpisek has stood up, and is clearing his throat loudly.

“You didn’t tell me he was going to give a speech!” Phichit whispers to Chris. 

“I kind of wish he’d told me, too,” Chris whispers back. He loves Josef, to be sure, but he’s also fairly certain this is his fifth cup of wine for the night, and Chris has absolutely  _ no  _ idea what he’s planning on saying. 

“I always knew! Since the day Chris started spinning again!” Chris immediately feels his cheeks heat up, and everyone, even Phichit, looks at him curiously. 

_ “The spinning!”  _ Celestino, who is sitting up at the head table next to Josef, is also just on the far side of tipsy, and looks completely awe-struck. 

“You see,” Josef continues, “Chris was the best spinner in men’s singles, because whenever he was happy? He would spin! For hours! Until he got so dizzy he could barely stand, let alone skate. Why, when he won his first medal—” Josef cuts himself off for a second, and Chris is mildly alarmed to see the beginnings of tears behind his glasses. “Anyways. When he came home from the wedding that lovely Prija just recounted, the first thing—first thing!—he did was go to the rink. Me being his coach, I followed him, of course. And he was spinning. For hours! So I knew then, that he was really, truly happy, and the reason for this happiness was and is Phichit. 

“And tonight we are here, and I was right. This boy, he is in love! Phichit, I have known Christophe since he was too small to even tie the laces on his own boots, and now he is a professional choreographer—I have known him for a long, long time, so I am confident that I can tell you—this boy loves you.” Josef smiles proudly. The tears are now actually slipping down his face. “And I am so proud of both of you.”

Chris, too, feels his eyes watering, and he gives in to the impulse to get up and hug Josef. There aren’t words for everything Josef’s given him, but Chris hopes that he can at least try and communicate it through an embrace. 

“No wait, I want to give a speech too!” Celestino says, standing up and swaying a bit. He regains control of himself soon enough, though, and waves at the crowd. “Ciao, everybody! I don’t have a speech planned but I think… Phichit is dear to me as a son of my own—” here, Celestino makes a gesture to Mali and Sunya, who beam back at him—“and I just want everyone to know how happy he is and how happy I am for him.” Celestino’s also crying, now, and somehow has ended up holding on to Josef for support. “This is, truly, one of the best matches to ever be, and I am so glad they all have friends and family to support them. And also, Phichit, this counts as your cheat day.”

Phichit groans and buries his face into Chris’ shoulder, but he’s smiling, and claps alongside everyone else. When the claps die off for the third time, silence falls over the room. Chris looks around for a moment, and then stands up. 

“Any more impromptu speeches?”

Victor, for a split second, looks like he’s about to stand, but is tugged firmly back down by Yuuri. Chris glances at all the parents, but none seem inclined to stand, and so Chris opens his arms. 

“Well then!  _ Bon appetit!” _

“The spinning?” Phichit asks, grinning, when Chris sits down next to him and slings an arm over his husband’s shoulders. Chris shakes his head and laughs, more a rumble than anything else, as he presses a kiss to Phichit’s temple. 

“Yes,” he says, finally, as Phichit helps himself to a bite off Chris’ plate. 

“That’s cute,” Phichit says, looking very pleased with himself. 

Chris shrugs, eyeing Phichit appreciatively, and Phichit looks back at him knowingly through his eyelashes. “You’re cute,” Chris tells him. Phichit wrinkles his nose, but he smiles. “And you make me happy.”

“ _ Chris, _ ” Phichit says, in the tone that means he’s unexpectedly touched. Then, with a wink: “Good thing you married me, then, huh?” 

Chris’ food is cold by the time they stop kissing, but he still agrees.

 

**MAY 20TH, HONEYMOON SUITE, NICE, ALPES-MARITIMES, FRANCE, T +8499.928783 HOURS (11 months, 20 days later)**

Phichit breathes deeply the clean night air. He stretches his legs, and then his arms against the side of the pool. It’s heated, so even with the cool breeze here at the top floor of their hotel, he’s cozy. The sun’s just set, and the last few clouds are still blazing gold as Chris reappears. He’s in a bathrobe that’s cut off just below his crotch, carrying a expensive-looking bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. 

“Hello,  _ tesoro,” _ he says, setting the wine and glasses on the edge of the pool and discarding the robe so he can climb in next to Phichit and give him a kiss. “I missed you.”

Phichit smiles, pressing a soft kiss to Chris’ nose. “You were gone ten minutes.”

“Too long,” Chris replies, squeezing Phichit briefly with a hug before rummaging in a pocket of his bathrobe and pulling out a bottle-opener. “Wine?” Phichit nudges the glasses towards Chris, his wedding ring catching a bit of the light and glinting beautifully. Phichit used to make fun of Yuuri for constantly losing his train of thought when he saw his ring, but he kind of gets it now. 

“Please,” he says to Chris, and Chris pours the wine with all the pretentiousness of an underpaid sommelier. “Thanks, babe.”

“My pleasure,” Chris says, grinning—he’s still amused by  _ babe _ , probably, and Phichit rolls his eyes fondly as Chris settles into the spot next to him with a happy sigh and an exaggerated smooch to Phichit’s cheek. 

Two glasses and countless post-wedding selfies later, Phichit finds himself settled into Chris’ lap, making out with all the lazy pleasure of two people who know they have all the time in the world. When they pull apart, Chris is looking at him with something so tender in his eyes that Phichit feels himself blushing again.

“I love you,” Chris says, simply. “Very much.”

Phichit smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap!
> 
> first of all, we wanted to give you [the song that the title's from!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)
> 
> second of all, we took valuable time away from being hella gay for this... you're welcome. (but also, we're really sorry, we know this took forever :')
> 
> and lastly, thank you for reading and commenting, your support has meant so much to us <3

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to hit us up on tumblr at @piyo-13 and @smol-merci :D


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